


Long Live the Queen

by Shadowheartdesigns (shadowkitten)



Series: Smoke and Mirrors [5]
Category: Princess Principal (Anime), Princess Principal: Game of Mission (Video Game)
Genre: Assassination, Bigotry Typical to Early 20th Century, Character Death, Conspiracy, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Line of Succession, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-03-28 04:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13896537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowkitten/pseuds/Shadowheartdesigns
Summary: Princess Charlotte desires the throne of the Kingdom of Albion. There is just one problem: She is fourth in the line of succession.  The solution will be neither pretty nor clean.It's a good thing her friends are spies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is intertwined with others in the Smoke and Mirrors series. The intent is that this story may be read independently, or in conjunction with the other stories in the series.

Princess Charlotte stood in a hallway of the Royal Palace, waiting anxiously. She didn't gawk at the stunning beauty of the marble floors or the beautifully carved oak support beams; didn't gaze upon the paintings on the walls of "her" ancestors in their regal splendor. Her eyes were squarely focused on the large, heavy double doors in front of her, and the crisply-uniformed soldier that stood between them and her. He was in a red infantry jacket with brass buttons and black pants and trim, and wore a black pith helmet with a long, elaborate white plume attached to the side. The rifle he carried wasn't for show though, and neither was the bayonet attached to the end. Charlotte reminded herself that this man was on her side. That he would fight, kill, or die to protect her life.

She rocked on her feet, and smoothed down the skirt of her new maroon dress.

"So," she started casually.

"Begging your pardon Your Highness, but I'm ordered against smalltalk."

Charlotte sighed quietly. At least the man was allowed to respond.

"I see. Well ... good job."

He didn't respond to that, naturally enough.

She started to glance down the hallway, when one of the two doors opened, and the soldier came to attention. A second soldier, identical to the first but for the lack of a rifle, stepped out, and gestured for Charlotte to enter.

As she walked past, both soldiers saluted her, and she favored both with a smile.

A smile that evaporated as soon as she entered the room. It was a formal meeting-hall. A massive oak table, older than the current design of the Union Jack, dominated the center. At the far end, to Charlotte's left, sat the Queen. Charlotte reflexively curtsied at her, even as she glanced at the others at the table.

Her uncle, the Duke of Normandy, sat at the Queen's right. To her left sat her uncle Edward, the Crown Prince. Along the far side of the table sat her cousins Prince David and Prince Arthur. The second and third in line for the throne.

For the first time in quite some time, Princess Charlotte was not the most powerful and influential person in the room. Quite the opposite in fact. She felt the stirrings of fear, and briefly envisioned kneeling at a block with a grim, masked axe-man at her side.

The unarmed soldier closed the door, and then moved to the table. He pulled a chair out, and gestured for Charlotte to sit. She did so, and he scooted it in for her. Then, he moved behind her. Her nerves increased. She had been with the Principal Team long enough to recognize that her position, with her back to the only entrance to the room, was a vulnerable one.

She ached to ask what was going on, but had the good sense not to dare speak before the Queen. Again, being the weakest and least advantaged person in the room was an unfamiliar, and vaguely terrifying, feeling.

"We are most displeased and concerned, Charlotte," the Queen pronounced. Charlotte held her tongue.

"Rumors circulate that you were injured in the assassination attempt at the temple, and yet you vanish. Next We hear that you are in Casablanca with your school-mates, and find yourself abducted. Yet for all that, next you turn up in the Albion Embassy in Paris to secure a passport and papers, to re-enter Albion territory. And to add to the worry, when you arrive at London, you do not come first to Us to reassure that you are safe and well, but instead to Queen's Mayfair Academy, with said school-mates."

Charlotte winced internally, but made every effort to keep her expression neutral.

"This is frankly unacceptable behavior, Charlotte. What have you to say for yourself?"

Charlotte took a deep breath to compose her thoughts. She couldn't very well tell the truth. Not even if Normandy hadn't been here.

"I apologize, Your Majesty. My holiday ran past its expected time, so when I returned to London my only thought was to return to school. I've homework, reading, essays, and lectures to catch up on after all."

"None of which explains why you vanished from London in the first instance. Had We not had assurance to the contrary, you would be feared amongst the dead, Charlotte."

Her cheeks heated, and she found herself unable to adequately answer.

The Queen sighed. "Charlotte, We are aware that some call you a Princess of Air," she directed a quick, icy scowl in Normandy's direction, which he appeared not to notice. "But this is in fact quite far from the truth. Do you see the men arrayed across the table from you?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Charlotte nodded.

"Prince Edward may be Our immediate heir. However, a very thin line separate chaos from order. These men, and you yourself, compose that line. Should any catastrophe befall them, God forbid, you will be expected to step up and do your duty as a member of this family. We cannot have you risking yourself unnecessarily."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Charlotte said quietly.

"If I may, Your Majesty?" The Queen nodded, and the Duke of Normandy cleared his throat. "The Secret Service Bureau has the unique mandate of securing this nation and in particular, our family. I feel a personal responsibility and honor in extending my agency's fullest capacities to keep you safe from mischief."

 _Of course you do, uncle_.

"As such, once your medical examination .…"

_Wait, my what?!_

"...has concluded, you will be introduced to your new personal bodyguard."

The Queen frowned heavily at the Duke. He seemed to notice, and nodded in her direction with an insincere smile.

"Apologies, I have spoken out of turn."

"Charlotte, We are concerned for your health. Your rumored injury, compounded by time in a place such as _that_ , leads Us to conclude that We must insist the Royal Physician examine you."

"I ... see. Thank you, Your Majesty."

Charlotte forced herself not to squirm or frown. She could not refuse.

"Your uncle," the Queen again scowled at Normandy to indicate clearly to whom she referred, "advised Us to withdraw you from Queen's Mayfair Academy. We have concluded that with your performance, it would be a poor decision. Withdrawing from the Academy after an extended absence may lead to scandalous rumors, which We cannot abide."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Well. Have any of you any more to add?" the Queen asked, looking at the princes across the table.

Crown Prince Edward shook his head, his expression carefully neutral.

Prince David sighed. "No, Your Majesty."

Prince Arthur looked somewhere between bored and annoyed. He had been lightly tapping his fingers on the table through much of the meeting, and upon being addressed, he frowned.

"No," he said simply.

The Queen's expression darkened, but she said nothing to him.

"Very well then. Please escort Princess Charlotte to the infirmary."

"Yes Your Majesty," the soldier behind Charlotte said. He lightly grasped the chair, pulling it out as she stood. She favored him with a smile and nod.

He then opened one of the double doors, and gestured for her to walk out. The other soldier, with the rifle, again saluted as she walked past. Her smile to him this time was strained.

**

Charlotte's cheeks were red. She was fastening the buttons of her dress, and attempting to remain collected. She sat on a chair beside the examination table, and Doctor Kreutz sat at a desk, making notes.

The Doctor was an old man with receding, frazzled grey hair, and pale brown eyes behind a silver pince-nez. His face was lined with wrinkles, but there was no indication that any had come from an excess of smiles.

He glanced at her, and Charlotte felt her face heat. His examination had been quite thorough, and she vaguely felt violated, in both her privacy and person.

"You're in good health, considering. Your hand will fully heal in time, and your leg wound is barely noticeable. Might be mistaken for a birth-mark, even."

She shrugged.

"I am glad to hear it." She didn't add the accusation that it had been an unnecessary examination.

He made another note, then turned to her.

"Have you felt any pain, discomfort, sickness? Anything of the sort?"

"No, Doctor."

He frowned.

"Please advise me if you do. Particularly if you should miss a cycle, or feel yourself sick in the mornings."

Charlotte blinked in surprise.

"I ... beg your pardon?"

His frown deepened.

"I'm no spring chicken, Your Highness. I've consulted direct with Dr. Freud as it happens, so there's no hiding it from me. I'll not ask you to name him .…"

"This is absurd!" she responded.

"Please, Your Highness. With all due respect, the evidence is quite glaring. I hope only that your beau is not a common man."

Charlotte's face was bright red, and she allowed herself to scowl in anger.

"I am not cavorting with a gentleman."

He shrugged.

"Well, if you say so, Your Highness. Anyway, my suspicions will be in your sealed record. Just so if you should turn up expectant, I shall look discreet instead of incompetent."

His lips twisted into a sneer, which Charlotte expected was as close as he ever got to a smile.

"Are we done?" she asked sharply.

He shrugged.

"If you've nothing else to say. I've no interest but in your health, Your Highness. If you do experience certain symptoms, please inform me. No other physician, if you please. For a woman of your station, discretion is of the utmost import."

"I am not having sexual intercourse with a man," Charlotte repeated bluntly in frustration.

"I frankly do not care, outside of my professional capacity. It's not as though you're the only member of this family sowing wild oats, after all."

Charlotte sighed, but said no more. The Doctor shrugged.

"Well. Have a splendid day, Your Highness."

She stood without pleasantries, and left the examination room.

Her mood soured further as she saw sitting in a chair just outside the infirmary, a dark-skinned woman with black hair, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a white uniform. She looked up, and pulled herself to her feet as Charlotte entered.

"Your Highness," she said with a nod.

"Gazelle Flint, is it?" Charlotte said with forced politeness.

"Yes, ma'am."

Charlotte nodded, keeping her expression even.

"Has my uncle sent his right hand to be my bodyguard?"

Gazelle chuckled mirthlessly.

"No ma'am. As great as the honor would be, I must forego the duty."  
Charlotte smiled.

"More important things to do than babysit a royal brat?"

Gazelle's smile widened a touch in response.

"Yes, ma'am. If you'll follow me, I'll introduce you to your new bodyguard."

"Lead the way."

After a quick walk through the halls, without speaking to each other, Gazelle led Charlotte to a small meeting room. No soldiers stood at the door. Gazelle opened it.

Charlotte stepped inside and found her breath catch in her throat. Her heart beat faster, and her cheeks turned pink.

A woman that she could only call handsome rose smoothly from where she sat. She wore a black coat and grey waistcoat with gold trim; white blouse, starched and bleached; black tie; white gloves; sharp, pressed black trousers; and patent leather shoes, shined to perfection. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight, but stunningly long, pony-tail, tied off below the nape of her neck with a black ribbon. A charming smile graced her lips, and her aqua-blue eyes sparkled.

"Princess Charlotte, this is Chris. She will be your bodyguard."

Chris placed her right hand on her abdomen, and bowed at the waist, sending a strange little shiver up Charlotte's spine. When Chris stood again, her smile widened just a fraction.

"It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Your Highness."

"The pleasure is mine. Miss ...?"

"Chris will do, ma'am."

Charlotte smiled.

"Well, I will leave you in Chris' very ... _capable_ hands," Gazelle said with a look of undisguised amusement. She again nodded at Charlotte, before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Charlotte blinked, took a deep breath, and cleared her throat.

"Well. I admit I feel a little awkward addressing you so informally."

Chris shrugged.

"We're supposedly old friends. That's part of why I'm transferring to Queen's Mayfair so late in my school career."

"I see. Well, best to call me Princess or Charlotte then. Calling me ma'am on campus will attract ... attention."

Chris laughed softly, sending another shiver through Charlotte.

"Princess it is, then. Shall we?"

She moved over toward Charlotte, gesturing to the door. Charlotte took another deep breath, and stepped to one side. Chris opened the door and glanced through it, before again gesturing Charlotte through.

As they walked through the Palace halls to the main entrance, Charlotte found herself stealing quick sidelong glances at Chris. She felt vaguely guilty for doing so, and periodically had to remind herself that this woman represented a sharp and sudden end to her privacy. She would be able to go places her other, male, bodyguards had been excluded from: lavatory, gymnasium, baths ... and found the train of thought to be no use. By the time they walked out into the warm spring air, Charlotte's face was quite red.

A car was waiting for them. The driver sat looking vaguely bored in the open front. Chris trotted forward, to open the rear driver side door and gesture for Charlotte to enter, with another little bow.

Charlotte smiled.

"Well. I fear you are going to spoil me by the time the term is ended."

"My very plan, ma'am," Chris answered with a grin.

"Charlotte, if you please."

"Princess," Chris answered, her grin becoming a mischievous smirk.

Charlotte sat, and the door closed. After a moment, where Chris leaned in to speak to the driver, Chris opened the passenger side door and entered. When she closed the door, the car began to move.

"We're secure back here," Chris said, her tone more serious than before.

Charlotte looked at her with some surprise.

"Control sends their regards," Chris said.

"I see," Charlotte said quietly.

"The Principal Team is not aware of my affiliation. I doubt it'll take them long to figure it out, but Control wanted me to play it this way. In any case, Princess, you can put full trust in me."

"Well," Charlotte said, glancing out her window. "I have heard this particular song before."

"Zelda, yes. I can only beg you to trust me, then."

Charlotte hummed, and glanced back at Chris. She was aware that her cheeks were warming again.

"Trust is earned."

Chris smiled softly, and met her gaze evenly.

"So it is, Princess."

Charlotte held her gaze for another moment, before turning to look out her window again.

**

The car pulled through the gate to Queen's Mayfair Academy, and up to the steps leading in to the main building. Charlotte noticed that Ange stood on the top, wearing her school uniform and glasses. A thin smile touched Ange's lips, and as the car pulled to a stop, she started to walk down.

Chris opened her door and stepped out, and Charlotte saw Ange's smile instantly evaporate. Her eyes tracked Chris, as the young woman walked around to Charlotte's door and opened it. She held out a gloved hand, and Charlotte, with a smile to the woman, took her hand to accept help exiting the car.

Even through the gloves, Charlotte could tell her hand was firm and strong; to use Gazelle Flint's word, _capable_.

"Ange," Charlotte called out, even as she nodded thanks to Chris.

Ange continued down the stairs, her eyes still locked on Chris. She was trying, and mostly failing, to keep an even expression.

Charlotte walked over to her.

"Ange?"

The other girl blinked, and turned to Charlotte. A smile instantly crossed her lips, and she moved to her, wrapping her arms around Charlotte's shoulders.

"Hello, Charlotte. It's so good to see you back. I missed you."

"My my, so very forward, my darling. I missed you as well."

Chris leaned over to say something to the driver, and then pulled a duffel bag from the car's boot, before waving. The car pulled off, and she walked over to the other two, bag in her left hand.

"Ah, Ange. This is Chris, a very dear friend who has just transferred to the academy. Chris, this is Ange le Carré."

Charlotte pulled away, despite Ange clinging for just a moment longer than seemed quite appropriate. Chris, with a charming and brilliant smile, held her right hand out to Ange.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

Ange turned to her, once more failing to entirely keep her expression neutral.

"Indeed," Ange said. Pointedly not taking her hand.

Charlotte frowned.

"Now Ange, be nice."

Ange glanced at Charlotte, sighed, and then held her hand out to Chris. Chris, with a widening smile, grasped her hand, and leaned down to press her lips lightly to Ange's knuckles. Ange's cheeks reddened, and she hurriedly pulled her hand free. Chris grinned.

"We have a meeting, Charlotte. One exclusively for the Natural History Club."

"Ahh, I see. Well, I suppose I can go like this, though I fear I will seem overdressed."

"It will be fine, Charlotte," Ange said.

"Go on ahead," Chris said with a smile. "I'll follow along."

Ange frowned, and shot her another glance.

"Sadly, as I noted, the meeting is exclusively for members of the Natural History Club. I fear you are not in the club, nor are you eligible for membership."

"Ange! Please, be civil at least."

"It's okay," Chris laughed. "I'm new here, so I don't expect to be treated special. Still, I guess I have a room next to yours, Charlotte, so I'll wait for you. I can walk you to your room after your meeting is over."

"I see," Charlotte said, grinning. "Well, surely you cannot object to that, Ange?"

Ange decided to say nothing.

They walked through campus, Charlotte and Chris chatting idly about the campus itself, and about classes that they would, by chance of course, be sharing. Ange walked a step behind Charlotte, arms folded across her chest, occasionally fixing Chris with what was increasingly becoming a glare.

When they arrived at the clubroom, Ange trotted ahead, opening the door and gesturing for Charlotte to enter.

"Thank you," she said sweetly, crossing the threshold.

Ange darted inside, and started to close the door behind her, earning surprised looks from Dorothy, Beatrice and Chise, all of whom sat at the table.

"Ange!" Charlotte chided, "Please do not be so rude!"

Ange frowned, and released the door. Charlotte frowned at her, and pushed the door open.

"I am sorry, Chris. Please, come in and meet everyone."

Chris entered the room, smiling.

Beatrice's eyes went wide, her cheeks instantly turning red. Dorothy's expression softened, and a big grin crossed her face. Chise's cheeks dusted pink, and she shifted awkwardly in her chair.

"This is Chris. She's an old friend, who has just transferred here. Chris, this is Beatrice, Dorothy, and Chise. I'm sure they'll be willing to help you out in any way they can."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Chris said with a little bow.

"Pleasure," Beatrice squeaked.

"Yeah, nice to meetcha," Dorothy agreed, her grin widening.

"Ah! Chris. Welcome to Queen's Mayfair Academy. I am honored to be your senpai! Should you need any assistance whatsoever, do not hesitate to ask me."

Chris chuckled lightly.

"Thank you Chise-dono, but sadly I'm afraid I don't qualify as your kouhai. I'm both older, and in a grade above yours."

Chris said something else, in Japanese, and Chise's cheeks reddened just a touch. She smiled widely however, and nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, now that's finished, I'll ask you to leave, Chris," Ange said.

Charlotte's grin widened, and she gave Ange a look.

"Oh, yes. Of course. You have your meeting. Well, that's fine. Charlotte, I shall await you out in the hallway."

"Thank you, Chris."

Chris backed out the door, favoring everyone with one last smile, before closing the door behind her.

Ange sat down heavily, and Charlotte's smile melted into a frown.

"Well," Beatrice said.

"Yeah," Dorothy agreed.

Beatrice leaned back in her chair, took a very deep, sighing breath, and glanced up at Dorothy.

"Exception to rule 3?"

Dorothy gave Beatrice a toothy grin.

"Sounds good, though that one goes both ways."

"Deal," Beatrice giggled.

Charlotte shook her head, with a tolerant smile. She then turned to Ange with a frown. "Well Ange, if you are finished _fluffing_ then perhaps we can begin our meeting."

Ange blushed. "Fl ... fluffing?"

"All day you have been fluffing out your feathers, in order to appear larger and more impressive. It's as though you feel your territory is being intruded upon."

Dorothy laughed.

"Yeah, you really kinda are. Jealous much?"

Ange crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"I am not jealous."

Beatrice grinned.

"Sure looked that way to me."

"I am not. However, I am concerned by her presence. Charlotte, I suspect that she is your new bodyguard from the Home Office?"

"Yes, that's true."

"I see," Chise said slowly. "Yes, that is a problem then. As she is a woman, and competent in contrast to Lily Gaveston, she will prove to be troublesome to the extreme."

Dorothy glanced between Ange and Chise.

"Hmm. I wonder: You jealous too, Chise?"

"Jealous? By no means! She is attractive, and has many markers of Western beauty, both masculine and feminine. I find that I desire to spend time with her, and that the prospect of assisting her to fit in to the Academy's culture is an agreeable one. However, Ange is correct that she represents a threat."

Dorothy stood up, and walked over to the door. As the others watched, she opened it. Chris was standing along the opposite wall, holding her duffel bag in both hands. She looked up curiously as Dorothy opened the door.

"Chris. C'mon in here."

"Dorothy," Ange said with a frown, "should we not commence with our meeting?"

"First things first, partner."

Chris shrugged, and stepped into the room. Dorothy closed the door behind her, then turned to her with a wide grin.

"First, lemme apologize for Ange's behavior. She's a great friend but sometimes she forgets herself."

Ange frowned at this, causing Charlotte to place a consoling hand on her forearm.

"Second ... well, we don't really know that much about you."

"Well," Chris said with a shrug, "feel free to ask anything you'd like."

"D'you like pie?"

Everyone in the room other than Dorothy and Chris jolted in surprise, and looked at Dorothy curiously. Chris just smiled widely.

"I do."

"Yeah, me too. My favorite is apple."

Chris nodded. "A solid and dependable answer, Dorothy. Yes, that fits you. Personally, I prefer coconut cream."

Dorothy laughed, and slapped Chris' forearm.

"Yeah, I figured you would. Take a seat, Chris."

"What?" Ange spluttered, her famous composure absent. "Dorothy, what are you ...."

"Ange, partner, I am disappointed in you. You can't even recognize a fellow Commonwealth spy?"

"Huh?"

Chris laughed softly, glancing knowingly at Charlotte and sitting down in the empty chair between Chise and Beatrice. Dorothy grinned and returned to her seat.

"How'd you know?" Charlotte asked, with a smile.

"Well, to be fair, Control told me they'd be pulling a switcheroo eventually, quietly getting rid of one of the real bodyguards and substituting one of our agents. Didn't know for sure it was Chris ... but that's why I made her say the code phrase."

"Coconut cream," Beatrice whispered.

"Yup. Surprised you didn't think of that, Ange. Or were you too busy fluffing and being jealous?"

Ange blushed, and huffed.

**

In the back room adjoining the Natural History Club, Beatrice stood watching an electric kettle, a porcelain teapot sitting beside it on the countertop. Chris was busy placing cookies and pastries onto plates on a silver platter. Ange, in her leotard, top-hat, boots, and mask, paced back and forth in the room, glancing from time to time between the other two.

The side door, leading to the hallway rather than the clubroom, opened. Charlotte hurried through, glancing between the other three. She nodded, whispered something to Beatrice, then leaned in close to Ange.

"It's working. We'll recruit Lily tonight, I am sure of it," she said quietly. Ange nodded.

The water in the electric kettle started boiling and Beatrice carefully poured it into the teapot. Charlotte nodded at her, then turned to Chris. She whispered something to her, and Chris nodded also. When Charlotte pulled away, she looked again at Ange. Her expression, or what of it she could see over the mask, was carefully neutral.

"You are not still jealous, are you?" She whispered to Ange.

"I was never jealous to begin with," she replied. Charlotte could just barely see the top curves of her cheeks turning pink.

"Liar," Charlotte grinned.

Beatrice placed the teapot on the silver tray, just as Charlotte placed six teacups and plates there as well. Charlotte looked at Chris, who picked up the tray.

Charlotte looked at Beatrice and Ange with a serious expression. Beatrice took a deep breath, and nodded.

Charlotte then opened the door, moving out into the hallway followed closely by Chris.

Ange closed the door, then looked at Beatrice. The younger girl fidgeted nervously with the hem of her skirt. She shifted her weight, and looked up at Ange.

"You are doing well," Ange whispered to her.

Beatrice gave her a lop-sided grin: "I'll take that as a compliment, coming from an extraterrestrial lizard."

Ange nodded. "It is meant as one. You are truly a formidable spy."

Beatrice blushed, and looked down at her feet, though a big silly grin formed on her face.

The door to the clubroom opened, and Charlotte stepped inside. She glanced at the other two, then motioned them forward.

Charlotte stepped through the door, followed closely by Ange. Beatrice took a very deep breath. She stepped through the door, and Chise immediately stood up, frowning, holding her hand in front of Lily.

 _Okay,_ she told herself, forcing a scowl on her face. _Back in character. Angry. Bitter._

 

**

Later that evening, Charlotte peeked into the clubroom again. She was a touch light-headed from drinking one more glass of whisky than she ought, and had a vaguely morbid curiosity about the aftermath of earlier events. As she suspected, she saw Chise and Lily sitting together on the couch. Lily's arm was over Chise's shoulder, and the Japanese girl wore a slightly-frightened expression.

Charlotte knocked on the door, and grinned as she saw Lily hurriedly pull her arm back. She then pushed her way into the clubroom, smiling.

"Good evening, you two."

"Ah, Princess! It is good to see you," Chise said, scrambling to her feet.

Lily gave her a forced smile.

"Charlotte. We were ... well, talking."

"Yes. Lily was ... well, she was ascertaining where we might go for dinner."

"Oh?"

Lily's smile turned genuine, and she stood up beside Chise. Placing an arm around her back. Chise blushed, and glanced down at her feet.

"I'm taking her to Lorraine River Restaurant this weekend."

"Oh my, Lily. That's quite extravagant."

Lily shrugged.

"It seems an appropriate place for a first date."

Charlotte's smile widened, her brows raising.

"A date, Chise? I am surprised, Dorothy's teasing notwithstanding."

"Well ... Hime-sama. It is, that is ... Lily knows. So, it is ... that is, I must talk to her. Marilla I mean."

Charlotte nodded.

"Yes, I had hoped you meant her. Lily?"

Lily had the decency to blush.

"Well ... I see no harm in it."

"But to date a woman who is, after a fashion, happily married .…"

Lily couldn't maintain eye contact with Charlotte.

"I understand that. I suppose. But there is chemistry here!"

Charlotte looked at Chise, who gave her a half-hearted shrug.

"And Chise, you intend to tell Marilla this? About this 'chemistry.' "

"Yes," she replied, uncertainly.

"I see. Well, I will not pretend to understand; It is hardly my place to judge such matters. I wish you well, Chise."

"Um. Thank you, Princess."

"Lily, a word?"

Lily gulped, and nodded hurriedly.

"Goodnight Chise," she whispered.

Chise pulled away from her and turned. She hesitated a moment, leaned in, and lightly kissed Lily's cheek.

She then rather rapidly spun and darted out of the room with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Charlotte watched her go, and then closed the clubroom door.

"Sit, Lily."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Charlotte turned to her with a surprised look, and joined her on the couch.

"You don't need to be formal, Lily. We are friends."

Lily nodded, but said nothing.

Charlotte gently placed an arm over her shoulder.

"I am sorry you had to experience that. Beato is not normally such an angry person."

Lily shrugged.

"I am really at fault, I suppose."

"Lily, we are fighting for what is right."

Lily nodded.

"I know."

"I want you on my side, Lily. I do not want to have to fight you."

"I know, Charlotte. I don't want that either."

"So we can count on you? You'll do as we ask, and not betray us to my uncle?"

Lily nodded, with a sigh.

"Good. Now, what is this with Chise?"

Lily blushed heavily and looked down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap.

"I ... Charlotte, I have fallen in love."

"Even though she is not single?"

"Yes."

"Her wife, Marilla, is a formidable woman. I myself should tremble should I have to cross blades with her."

Lily looked back up at her. Her face was still red, but her expression had turned serious.

"Charlotte, I can't ignore my feelings."

"I know, Lily."

"And ... I don't mean to hurt anyone."

"I know."

"If ... if it comes to it," Lily shrugged, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Then I will accept being miserable."

"Oh Lily ... you needn't be miserable. There are plenty of people out there. You will find someone one day."

"I have already though."

Charlotte sighed.

"As I said earlier, I will not judge you. I reserve judgment for your actions regarding Marilla."

Lily shrugged.

"I'll tell her the same thing. I love Chise. I don't want to hurt either of them ... but I can't let this feeling pass."

Charlotte was silent for a moment.

"I suppose there is nothing more to be said then."

Lily nodded, and stood up slowly.

She stepped away from the couch. When Charlotte stood, Lily turned back to her, and after a moment of hesitation, tentatively placed her arms around the Princess' shoulders. Charlotte wrapped her in a tight embrace.

"I am sorry, Charlotte."

"Don't be, Lily. I believe in you, just as you do in me."

Lily squeezed her tightly, then pulled away from her.

"Thank you, Your Highness. You ... you shall make a splendid queen."

Charlotte smiled.

"Thank you, Lily."

**

Charlotte sighed softly, closing her eyes and relaxing. The gentle repetition of the brush and soft petite fingers running through her hair was soothing. Even the gentle but firm tugging against a stubborn knot didn't disturb her.

"Sorry, Your Highness," Beatrice whispered.

"It's alright. You're so very gentle, Beato."

She continued to work at the knot, until it broke free under her fingers.

"I've missed this, Princess."

"Mmhm. I have as well."

Beatrice continued brushing in silence. Deliberate and tender. For a moment, just for a moment, Charlotte could forget about the chaos of the past year. Forget about spies and assassins and terrorists.

"I believe that I shall appoint you royal hairdresser once I am queen."

Beatrice giggled softly.

"I accept with humble gratitude, Your Majesty."

"Beatrice, even in jest that's not proper."

"Well, I ...."

There was a tapping sound at Charlotte's window.

"So much for a quiet evening alone," Beatrice sighed, only half joking.

Charlotte smiled, and stood up as Beatrice stepped back. Charlotte walked over to the window, and pulled open the curtains.

Ange perched on the window-sill, wearing her grey dress and enveloped by a pale green glow.

Charlotte partly opened the window.

"My, it seems a little dove has perched upon my window, Beato. Whatever shall I do?"

Beatrice grinned widely.

"Feed her some bread, Your Highness. I'm sure she'd appreciate that."

Charlotte glanced back at Beatrice with a smirk.

"I am certain you're right. Will you go get some for me from the kitchen?"

Beatrice winced, her cheeks turning red. Charlotte laughed softly.

"Tweet, tweet," Ange deadpanned.

"Well, she appears to be impatient, Beato. Won't you please hurry so I can feed the poor dear?"

Beatrice sighed, and shook her head.

"Good night, Your Highness. Good night Ange. Have fun. But ... just not too much fun! It's ... well, we have classes tomorrow!"

"Good night, Beato," Charlotte smiled, as she opened the window. Beatrice closed the door behind her, and Ange hopped in. The green glow vanished.

"A new C-ball?"

Ange nodded, holding it up. It was smaller than the old; smoother, with a polished golden sheen. A very thin stream of greenish mist wafted out of small holes along the sides.

"Yes. Just got it from Control. They've made several important improvements. It is more efficient at cooling itself, and may therefore be used for longer periods. The Cavorite can last ...."

Charlotte placed her hands around the C-ball, and lifted it out of Ange's grasp. Ange stopped talking, with a shrug.

Charlotte gently placed it on her boudoir table beside her perfumes and makeup bottles and brushes.

"You have no further need of it tonight, Charlotte."

Ange smiled.

"No. You lift me up far better than it ever could, Princess."

Charlotte tilted her head.

"I'm never certain what you'll call me these days. In Casablanca it was Ange, without fail."

Ange shrugged, and rested her hands on Charlotte's shoulders.

"Well, it felt like a private secret then. Now all our friends have heard us call one another by our ... original names."

"Hm. Yes, I suppose that's true," Charlotte said wrapping her arms around Ange's mid-section. "That makes you not want to call me Ange?"

Ange leaned in close, but Charlotte leaned back with a smirk.

"You cannot dodge the question so easily, Charlotte."

"Ah, but I can. I am an expert at dodging."

"Artful, might you say?"

Ange smirked.

"You are the little thief, _Ange_ , for you are the one that has stolen my heart."

Princess giggled softly, and leaned back close to her. Their lips met briefly.

"I adore you, Charlotte. You are my light, and my life."

They kissed again. It lingered this time. Their arms tightened around one another. They pressed closer together.

The kiss broke.

"Run away with me, to Casablanca. I have a white house ready for us there," Ange whispered.

"I shall," Charlotte said teasingly, "but we must wait for summer."

Ange pouted, and Charlotte kissed her lower lip.

"Patience, dearest Charlotte. Did they not teach you to be patient at the farm?"

"I have no desire to be a patient, Ange. Needles and drugs give me the shivers."

Charlotte's brows arched.

"Oh? I thought needles and drugs were vital tools to a spy. Don't you have truth serums and the like?"

"Ve have ozer meanz to make such as you talk, Fräulein!"

Charlotte again giggled.

"Oh, is that so? So are you a Black Lizard or a Prussian Spy?"

Their lips met yet again.

"Perhaps I shall be a Bohemian tonight?"

Princess hummed, pursing her lips together.

"I think that I should like the little turtledove that I remember from Casablanca best of all."

"Pity we don't have a private bath," Ange sighed.

They kissed again.

"Well, we do have some measure of ...."

There was a knock at the door. Charlotte closed her eyes and sighed.

"Privacy."

She turned her head partly to the door, and called out: "Who is it?"

"Your Highness," Beatrice's voice answered, "I think I left something in your room."

Ange rolled her eyes, and released Charlotte. The Princess kissed her lips one last time, grinning, and turned to the door.

When she opened it, Beatrice scrambled in, eyes wide.

"Ange, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I just saw your dorm's house mother! She's conducting a surprise inspection of rooms."

Charlotte sighed.

"Pity," Ange said with a shrug. She grabbed her C-ball from the table, and pulled herself back onto the window ledge. "Fare well for now, Princess."

"Fare well, my turtledove."

Ange glowed green, and hopped off into the night.

Beatrice glanced up at the Princess.

"I ... better go too. They might be inspecting my dorm, and if I'm not there ...."

"They will come here to see if you are helping me, Beato. Still, better to be safe than sorry."

"Yeah. Apologies, for ruining your evening."

"Don't worry, it isn't something to apologize for. Sadly, we must be cautious here."

Beatrice turned to leave, frowning.

"Believe me, I know that."

**

The table was covered in papers. Sketches and photographs lay over hand- and type-written notes and reports. A pile of receipts lay beside a ledger book, The tangible results of six girls’ efforts over a period of a week.

Princess sat at the head of the table, glancing through one typed report. She sighed.

“What’s wrong, Your Highness,” asked Beatrice.

“Oh, just one thing about this bothers me. The torches.”

Lily sighed, and pointed at a photograph sitting in between the two of them.

“It’s a modern design, Charlotte. The reservoir of fuel is designed to shut off the flame if it falls over.”

“And,” stated a pale-skinned freckled girl with blonde hair, “it isn’t gonna be a windy night. The ground’s not gonna be dry or anything. It’s real safe.”

“Brianna, I am just concerned. I do not want to burn down the school.”

“It’s safe, Lotte. I swear it.”

Beatrice and Lily both cringed, but quickly recovered.

“I think Brianna is right, Charlotte,” a dark-skinned girl with shoulder-length black hair said, just a touch of frustration in her voice. “It is safe. As safe as gaslight.”

“Which is being replaced by electric lighting due to safety,” Princess pointed out.

“Your Highness, I … happen to agree with Brianna and Chandony.”

“Thanks, Bea,” Brianna said with a grin.

Lily glanced between them.

“Well, I am less certain. I mean, London has a proper fire brigade, so ….”

Brianna and Chandony both frowned heavily.

“You saying Dublin doesn’t?”

Lily blinked.

“Of course not Brianna. Just … well, London is the capital ….”

“Not mine it isn’t,” she responded, an edge to her voice.

“Ladies, please.” Princess sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “If the three of you are certain, then I will defer to your judgment.”

“Thanks, Lotte.”

“So,” Lily said, “if that’s settled … is there anything else we need to discuss?”

Chandony looked down at her notes.

“Hm. Food, decorations, the ballroom itself of course … Janice, the music?”

The sixth girl, a mousy brunette with square glasses, nodded.

“Herr von Loeb is less than thrilled, but he agreed to the playlist. He … believes that the new music and dances from America lead to immorality, so he only agreed in return for extra chaperons around the hall.”

“That argument was used against the waltz a century ago,” Chandony noted.

Janice nodded.

“I know, and I appreciate the irony. Especially since he agreed to the slow and Viennese waltzes without hesitation.”

“Alright. So music is set too,” Princess said. The others nodded.

“We have a week to spare then,” Lily said with a smile. “The Spring Dance should be wonderful.”

“Damn well better be with as much a pain in the ass it’s been.”

“Brianna!” Beatrice chided in a shocked voice. The Irish girl just smirked.

Princess wore a relaxed, genuine smile.

“Good. I think that’s enough for tonight. Everyone, thank you for your hard work so far, and keep at it for the time we have left.”

Janice, Chandony, and Brianna all stood up, and started away.

“Need help with this, Your Highness?” Beatrice asked.

“Thank you, yes.”

Lily smiled. “I’ll help too, then.”

The three began to pull together the papers and photographs.

“Ah!”

The three glanced up, and saw Brianna stop in her tracks.

“Go on, I forgot something!”

Janice and Chandony responded quietly, and left. Brianna turned and trotted back to the table, wearing a smirk.

“Okay you lot, listen up. My team’s got go orders for the night of the dance.”

“Oh,” Princess said, her voice lilting in disappointment. “That means we can't help you with your mission, and if anything happens at the dance ....”

She shrugged.

“You can manage I am sure. And we don’t need your help. Hell, you Commonwealth types get all the damn glory as it is.”

“It’s not that,” Beatrice said, “We’re on the same side.”

Brianna glanced at her, still smirking.

“Only technically, and only because of Princess here.”

Lily chose to remain quiet, having the vague sense that she shouldn’t be aware of Brianna’s allegiance, even if she was now working for the Commonwealth.

“Well, please take care. I would be upset if something happened to you, Brianna.”

“Thanks, Lotte. I just hope you're still with us when you get the throne.”

“I shall be.”

Brianna nodded, then left without another word.

After a moment, Beatrice turned to Princess.

"Do you really trust her?"

"Beato," Princess sighed, "the important thing is that she trusts us. Trusts _me_. With the history that plagues our nations, that is a remarkable thing."

Lily handed the papers she had gathered to Princess.

"I don't like it."

Beatrice glanced at her with a frown.

"I won't betray them though," Lily said evenly. "I just don't like it."

"There is nothing to dislike, Lily. They oppose the Kingdom, with good reason. They have no love for the Commonwealth, but our mutual foe leads us to cooperate at best, and to avoid crossing paths at worst. And I do intend to allow Éire to follow its own path once I'm on the throne."

Lily nodded.

"Well, I'll bow to your judgment, Your Highness."

"Oh, speaking of missions," Beatrice said to Lily, "We need to discuss some things."

Lily nodded, her cheeks turning pink. Charlotte smiled.

"I can take care of the rest."

"Okay. Thanks, Your Highness. I'll see you tonight."

"Alight Beato. Take care as well, Lily."

The two left, and Charlotte gathered together the last of the papers, shoving everything into two large, thick envelopes. She sighed, and slowly left the room.

"Hey Charlotte."

She looked up, and smiled to see Chris standing in the hallway beside the door. She wore a girls' uniform, and Charlotte felt her cheeks warm up yet again.

"Good evening, Chris. You look ... lovely. If I may say so."

Chris shrugged, and started walking alongside Charlotte.

"Well, if I'm to follow you everywhere, I'd better look the part. Plenty of these girls seem to think I'm a boy, and that might cause problems. For example, if I follow you into the baths."

"Ah, yes. That is a good point, Chris. Have any of the teachers said anything to you, either way?"

"Nope, though I got a few sour looks when I attended class in a boy's uniform."

Charlotte nodded.

"Well, then I believe that it is best for you to dress this way on school grounds at least. I shall insist that you wear a suit otherwise."

Chris grinned.

"Is that so, Charlotte?"

"Yes. I shall not be denied, however frivolous my desires be."

"I would never dream of denying you a thing, Your Highness."

Charlotte smiled at her.

"I am glad to hear it, Chris. You shall make a splendid member of the team.”

Chris laughed, and opened her door. A half-dozen envelopes scooted across the floor. She sighed, and Charlotte frowned.

“Hm. Do you receive many letters?”

Chris sighed, and picked one envelope off the floor at random. It was pale blue in color.

“Quite a few,” she said with a grin. She opened the envelope and pulled out the letter.

“ ‘Dearest Chris,' ” she began.

“Don’t read it aloud, for heaven’s sake.”

Chris smirked.

“It’s alright. I won’t read any more. This is actually the second letter I’ve got from him.”

“Oh?”

“I get letters from boys and girls. Quite a few think that I’m a boy in fact.”

“I see,” Charlotte said slowly.

“I don’t quite know what I should do, really.”

“Well, do any of the letters sound … interesting?”

“Well, let’s step in my room. It won’t hurt to talk about it in private.”

Charlotte nodded, and entered.

“Most are anonymous, of course. The very few with names attached I keep hidden. “

“Of course.”

“Still, should I answer any of these letters? Reply to someone who cannot confess to me in person?”

“I do not know. How would you, if you do not know who it is? Do any ask you to meet them somewhere?”

“Of course. This boy,” she gestured with the light blue envelope she had just opened, "has asked me twice to meet him behind the gymnasium.”

“I see. Does he know you are a girl?”

“He says, and I quote, ‘boy or girl, your beauty stuns me. I desire to hold you for all eternity.’ “

“My my, so very romantic.”

“Yes,” Chris sighed, “and I’m afraid I’d break his heart.”

“Hm. You do not have romantic interests in boys?”

“It isn’t that. I’ve never felt a romantic interest in anyone, boy or girl. I don’t mind the idea, it’s just never happened.”

Charlotte smiled: “And yet, you are so very charming and, if I may say so, handsome.”

Chris shrugged.

“Thank you.”

“Still,” Charlotte said seriously, “I wish I could answer your question. I have fallen in love once precisely, and have no advice to give you. I suppose there is someone out there for you. One day, you will meet them, and _they_ will sweep _you_ off of your feet.”

Chris smiled.

“I see. I guess that’s how I’ll know?”

Charlotte laughed.

“Maybe. Well, I should go to my own room, before a certain turtledove of mine becomes concerned.”

Chris stood and opened the door.

And as though on cue, right on the other side stood Ange. Charlotte blinked in surprise.

“Ange?”

“Charlotte. Chris. I was passing by to visit you, Charlotte, when I heard you talking in Chris’ room.”

Chris cleared her throat, and shifted awkwardly.

“Well … won’t you come in?” she offered.

Ange nodded, and stepped in. Chris closed the door afterward.

Ange glanced at Charlotte uncertainly, then turned to Chris.

“I … am glad that you’re here for the Princess,” she said quietly.

“Is that so?” Chris asked.

“Yes. I had intended to tell you before now, but … never had the chance. I fear I made a poor first impression.”

“Not really. My first impression was that of a loyal loving partner to Charlotte. Of course, then you started acting jealous.”

Ange shrugged.

“I apologize.”

“No need.”

Ange nodded, and glanced again at Charlotte. She was now smiling, earnestly happy.

“Just … protect her, when I can not.”

“That's my duty, Ange: to protect the future Queen of Albion.”

Ange held her hand out, and Chris took it firmly, with a wide smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta readers, Trans_Homura and SeptuVariest, for invaluable help with this chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Charlotte sighed. Chris looked up from where she was packing a bag. She was helping the princess, as her own meager possessions fit in the duffel bag that sat by the door.

"I miss them already," Charlotte said by way of explanation. She closed and fastened her luggage.

Chris smiled.

"It's only been an hour since they left though."

"I know. Still, to see Dorothy, Ange, and Beatrice ride off ... and there's no little danger for them. Well, Dorothy and Ange anyway. Beato will be safe."

"The Farm's still dangerous. Spy training isn't like finishing school."

Charlotte frowned.

"That didn't really help, Chris."

"Sorry, Princess."

"Still, I have no doubt everyone will be fine."

Chris nodded.

"Ange and Dorothy are professionals. They're operating in Commonwealth territory, remember. They've got the police on their side this time."

"Mostly," Charlotte noted.

"Yes, mostly. I won't lie and say they're completely safe, but ... it's actually less dangerous than their usual missions."

Charlotte smiled at her.

"Thank you, Chris. I appreciate the effort at least."

Chris sighed, and finished with the bag she was packing. "And that is the last one."

Charlotte nodded. "Thank you for helping with this as well."

***

Once packed, the two carried their luggage down to the main entrance to the academy. A royal Limousine was already parked and waiting. Chris opened the rear driver side door for Charlotte, then she and the driver loaded their bags into the boot. After a minute, Chris sat down on the passenger side, and the driver pulled away.

Charlotte sighed, and watched out her window as the academy grounds vanished into the distance. The drive between the academy and London was surprisingly rural. The city hadn't yet grown out this direction, though Charlotte didn't doubt that it would. Eventually. Probably sooner if the Wall remained up another decade.

Traffic was light this early in the morning. The Academy had gradually emptied of students over the last few days, with only the seniors remaining behind to prepare for graduation. In another year, Charlotte mused, she would be joining them. As would Ange and Dorothy. What would happen then?

They arrived at the Royal Palace without fanfare. A butler led them to Charlotte's room, and Chris helped her unpack. After a few moments, there was a gentle knock at the door, and a different butler peeked his head in.

"Madam?"

Charlotte looked up at him with a smile. "Ben. It's nice to see you again!"

The man frowned. He was bald but for a thin fringe of silver hair, and compensatory mutton-chops. He looked like a relic from the previous century, and it wouldn't be inaccurate to call him one.

"Quite. Her Majesty the Queen desires to talk with you, madam. And you, sir, may find lodgings in the servant's quarters."

Chris smiled at him. "Thanks, but I've actually got my own arrangements. I'm Chris, Princess Charlotte's bodyguard."

Benjamin nodded, his expression unchanging. "I see. Well, we've little use for your services here I'm afraid. Unless you feel the Coldstream Guards not up to the task."

"No sir, I have every confidence in them," she replied with clear amusement.

Benjamin nodded. "Well, thank you in any case Charles."

"Chris."

"Quite."

Chris and Charlotte exchanged a glance.

***

Benjamin led Charlotte through the corridors of the Royal Palace, to a small parlor. A small wooden table was in the center, with a wooden chair pulled up to one side. The Queen sat in her wheelchair by the table.

"Her Highness, Princess Charlotte," Benjamin announced, gesturing for her to enter.

Charlotte did so, curtsying to the Queen. "You wished to see me, Your Majesty?"

"Sit, Charlotte," the Queen said.

"Yes, madam."

The Queen frowned. "Please Charlotte, I've no desire to stand on formality."

"Alright, grandmother. How can I help you?"

Benjamin cleared his throat at the doorway, and a maid who had been standing to one side gave a quiet squeak. She trotted over to the table holding a silver tray. She placed teacups in front of the Queen and Princess. She then poured equal measures of tea into each from a floral-patterned porcelain kettle which she placed in the middle of the table. Beside this she placed a dish of sugar and jug of cream. She then curtsied and trotted out of the room.

Benjamin sighed softly, and left, closing the door after him.

The Queen poured cream into her teaspoon, placed it in her tea, and stirred. She then took a sip.

Charlotte, following suit and not wanting to breech protocol by speaking first, stirred one spoonful of sugar into her tea, then poured in a small amount of cream.

"Well," the Queen began, setting her teacup down, "It is a serious matter we have to discuss. I just don't want us to be too formal. It's about your expected behavior over the summer."

"Alright," Charlotte replied, sipping her own tea.

"Put simply, we've scheduled numerous balls, dinners, suppers, luncheons, meetings, and the like. You're expected to be in attendance. You'll have little to no formal duties though, so don't worry. You will be expected, however, to pay careful attention to the young gentlemen whose acquaintances you shall make."  
Charlotte barely managed to keep from wincing.

"I see. So you want me to become engaged."

"Precisely, Charlotte. Your Uncle, the Duke of Normandy, has made no secret that he desires to see you married off to the Crown Prince of Russia. I do not approve of this match. I also suspect that Normandy's connections to Russia may not be of the healthiest nature. Nevertheless, he has the support of the Foreign Minister in this matter, and I fear that he will make my life intolerable until I give my royal approval. Well, in any case, he is to be the guest of honor at tomorrow night's grand ball. You'll be introduced to him, I am quite sure."

"Does ... does he intend to propose at that time?"

"Likely not. He will mention the subject of course, but he won't want to make a formal proposal only to have you decline him. He'll want to make certain first that you'll accept, then make a public to-do about it. After which no doubt your uncle will hound me mercilessly til I approve. No, you'll have plenty of opportunity to find a suitable fiancé over the summer."

"And if I feel I am not ready?"

The Queen sighed.

"You must be. Charlotte, I'm not asking you to become wed. In fact, I shall withhold approval of any wedding, for at least a year."

"You mean, until I graduate from the Academy?"

The Queen nodded. "Yes. Also, remember that an engagement can be extended or canceled without jeopardizing your future."

"So ... what are you telling me, grandmother?"

"Well, I'll make it clear: find a man that is strong enough that he looks a good match for you, but weak enough that he doesn't jeopardize your chance at the Crown. Yes, I am aware of your ambitions. I approve of them, though naturally I won't disrupt the proper line of succession."

"I see."

"When I became Queen, I was about your age. I resisted the idea of marriage. Oh, there were suitors of course. Many handsome, eligible men who wanted to be at my side. Share my power. Be the true power behind the throne. The usual. The man I did marry I had met some years before, so I'd that advantage over your situation, but it amounts to the same thing: I did not marry for love, but for political advantage. To diffuse the power of my enemies and gain a close and loyal confidante. And, just perhaps, to quiet the prattlings of my mother and prime minister." The Queen smirked.

"Grandmother, you loved him. Your romance is ... well, it's legendary."

The Queen shrugged. "Mostly invented, as are many legends. He was a dear friend, and a kind and gentle man. He helped me in the right ways, at the right times. I did not fall in love with him, properly speaking, until the night of our wedding."

Charlotte's cheeks turned pink, and she sipped her tea.

"Well," the Queen continued, "It's not truly proper to talk too much of that. Take the important part of my example. I don't doubt the same can happen to you, Charlotte. If you make a wise selection. Choose your fiancé for political gain, but keep your heart open to him. Love can arrive suddenly, and when it does you will find yourself utterly in its thrall."

Charlotte took a deep breath. "I believe you may be right."

The Queen blinked, and smiled. "I am. And if not, well then marry a man that you can at least stomach being with. I absolutely demand that you produce for me great-grandchildren. Even if I am never fortunate enough to meet them in person."

Charlotte nodded. "I understand."

"Good. I am sorry to have to ask this of you, but it is for the best. For you, for our family, and for the nation."

***

The next day was a whirlwind of activity. A light breakfast was followed by hours of preparation time. Charlotte was bathed, her hair tightly braided, arranged into a bun, and decorated with a silver tiara and diamond hair-pins. Her dress was silvery blue and full, with puffy short sleeves and elbow-length gloves. She scowled at herself multiple times in the mirror.

"It's a bit much, isn't it?"

A maid that was helping her into her shoes, smiled. "Not at all, madam. It's quite a beauteous arrangement. You're to be quite the center of attention tonight, you know?"

"I was under the impression that the Crown Prince of Russia was to be tonight's guest of honor."

The maid giggled. "Well, that's true madam."

Charlotte frowned. "And yet, I appear to be the centerpiece of the ball."

The maid giggled again, but said nothing more.

Charlotte sighed, and stood up. The maid took a step back, smiling appreciatively. Charlotte positioned her hands at the appropriate positions in front of her, and began to go through the steps of a waltz. Rise-fall-spin,

The maid smiled widely. "Oh, splendid madam!"

Charlotte stopped, curtsied to the maid, and grinned. "Thank you, Maribel. Yes, the shoes are acceptable."

"Thank you, madam."

"You are dismissed."

"Yes madam," the maid replied with a curtsey, before scampering away.

Charlotte sighed, and again looked at herself in the mirror.

"I feel like a piece of furniture on display," she muttered.

"Full-price or discount?"

Charlotte gasped in surprise, and turned with a frown on her face.

"Arthur! How could you even ask such a thing?"

The young man, leaning in to the room at the doorway, wore a rakish grin. Short-cropped ash-blond hair framed his face, his deep, rich blue eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Full-price then? I don't want to see you sold off too cheaply after all."

Charlotte huffed, and walked over to him to give her cousin a quick embrace. They both made motions of kissing each others' cheeks, though in fact they came nowhere close to doing so.

"You are, simply put, impossible."

Arthur chuckled, but then his expression turned serious.

"Be careful tonight. Normandy's on the prowl. He's certain to put you in with that Slavic bastard. You'd be advised to avoid being alone with him. One never knows what living in an ice-encased wasteland like that can do to a man's passions."

"Arthur, I never expected to hear such bigotry from you."

"Pfft. The Tzar and his spawn can bugger off to fuck for all I care. I rather hate them all."

"More or less than responsibility?" Charlotte asked with a serious expression.

"Do not start with me, Miss 'Queen's Mayfair Academy.' I am precisely as responsible as a man of my station needs to be."

"Which is not at all, if it can be helped."

He scowled at her. "However it may be, I am serious. Don't have anything more to do with Russia than you must."

"Don't worry about me, Arthur. I'll be fine."

"Well, I have to run along. Apparently, I'm forced to be there as well. I have to practice my 'I don't entirely hate you even if you are a bastard' expression in preparation for meeting the Crown Prince tonight. With luck there'll at least be cute girls I'm not related to in attendance."

"Take care, Arthur."

"And you as well, Cousin Charlotte."

  
***

Charlotte arrived at the ball after the dances were well underway. She timed her arrival to coincide with the middle portion of the Blue Danube waltz, to ensure that everyone would be either dancing or watching the dancers, and she wouldn't have any embarrassing fanfare to deal with.

She saw two of her distant relatives, cousins or nieces or something, standing together whispering to one another. She smiled faintly, and walked over to them. They turned their attention to her, with looks of approval.

"Oh, Charlotte. Oh, you are simply stunning tonight." The girl was slightly older than Charlotte. She had light brown hair and brown eyes. She was very plain, and to her own shame Charlotte found that she couldn't recollect her name.

"As do you," she said diplomatically.

The older of her two relatives frowned lightly.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were dressed for a coming-out ball."

Charlotte looked at her with a widening smile. "Haven't you heard? I'm to be shipped off to Russia with the Crown Prince tonight."

The older girl shook her head. "You jest, and yet ... Charlotte, I do not like this."

"Nor do I," Charlotte said quietly.

"The man is a barbarian. He can barely speak proper English, and I understand he doesn't grasp a single word of French! I don't doubt that he has a dancing bear as a pet, and rides about the frozen tundra bare-chested."

"Now now," Charlotte chided. "There's no call for that. I am certain that he is a delightful young gentleman. I simply have no desire to be married at such a young age."

"Oh, I'd kill to be wed," her mousier relative sighed.

Charlotte frowned at her. "Speak to my uncle. Maybe a lesser, but still favorable, treaty can be made in exchange ...."

The girl's eyes went wide, as her cheeks turned bright red. She glanced down hurriedly. Her older relative cleared her throat, and gestured with her head. Charlotte hastily turned, and saw Duke of Normandy walking in their direction. Beside him was a young man, about Charlotte's age. Perhaps older by a half year. He was tall and had short, dark hair and deep blue eyes. Though he was clean-shaven, he bore more than a passing resemblance to Crown Prince Edward. He wore a dark green uniform with gold trim. He was quite handsome, Charlotte was forced to admit.

Her relatives quickly and quietly pulled back several steps.

"Princess Charlotte," Normandy smiled, "I have the honor of introducing to you Tsesarevich Alexander, of the Russian Empire."

Charlotte extended her hand toward him with a curtsey.

"It's a pleasure," he said in lightly-accented English. He lightly took her hand, and leaned forward, his lips just above, but not touching, her knuckles. He then straightened back up.

"The pleasure is entirely mine," Charlotte replied evenly.

The Duke smirked, and looked at Alexander. "Your Highness, as it happens the Royal Chamber Orchestra has a new commission. A 'Russian Waltz' composed in your honor. They should like to debut it for you now."

Alexander shrugged. "Well, that is most delightful. Sadly, I fear that I will be unable to enjoy it."

"Oh, and why is that?" Normandy asked, glancing at Charlotte with a widening smile. She felt a wave of nausea.

"I am without a dance partner," Alexander stated simply, turning an amused expression to Charlotte. "A waltz is rather wasted if one hasn't anyone to dance with, yes?"

Charlotte barely avoided rolling her eyes. "Well, it so happens that I am also without a dance partner."

She heard her mousy relative giggle. Charlotte ignored her.

"Oh, is that so? Will you do me the honor?"

She forced a smile to her lips.

"Of course."

They walked out to the dance floor, Normandy grinning widely. It was horribly transparent, but Charlotte remained demure.

Alexander placed his right hand on her upper back, and took her right hand in his left. She placed her left hand on his shoulder.

The music began, and they started to dance. Alexander held her loosely, sensing her confidence. They were smooth and precise, and Charlotte realized they were the only two on the dance floor. Everyone was watching them as they danced. At least, until the Crown Prince and his current fiancée stepped out. As though a switch had been flipped, numerous couples began to join them.

"You are as graceful as you are beautiful, Your Highness," Alexander said casually.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

He chuckled.

"Please, call me Alexander."

"If you will call me Charlotte."

He glanced at her with a smile.

"Then I shall."

They continued to dance in silence. When the song ended, they parted, and Charlotte curtsied at him, as he bowed to her, then turned to the orchestra to applaud.

The next waltz began shortly afterward, and Charlotte returned to him.

"I should like some air, Charlotte. If you will accompany me?"

"Of course."

She wrapped her arms around his forearm and he led them out to the open balcony. They pulled away, and she glanced out over the garden below. The night air was warm, and perfumed with the scent of flowers.

Alexander sighed, and leaned back against the railing, keeping his eyes on Charlotte.

"You are aware, I assume, that our meeting was not coincidental?"

"Of course."

He nodded. "I am the Crown Prince of Russia, heir to one of the most powerful nations on Earth, and yet I feel no joy in it."

"Whyever not?" Charlotte asked in a thin voice.

"A throne is cold and empty without a queen to share it with."

Charlotte said nothing.

"I am aware that the subject has been broached with your grandmother, the Queen."

"In a most heavy-handed manner, yes."

"Charlotte, I don't aim to take anything from you. I won't pretend to be in love with you, but there would be many advantages to our union."

"Political advantages for our nations, you mean."

"Of course. I'd be a damn liar to say otherwise. Albion and Russia bracket the continent. We dominate the land, you dominate the air and sea. Between us, we can dictate Europe's destiny for the next century."

Charlotte hummed, and glanced at him.

"Is that all you see?"

Alexander shook his head.

"You are beautiful, Charlotte. You're graceful, smart, and strong. You'd be a glorious Tzarina. And, if I may be blunt, a wonderful mother to strong children."

Charlotte turned away from him. She glanced down at the garden. The roses were all tightly curled up in red and pink and yellow buds.

"And you desire those children to be yours."

"To be frank, yes. I feel we would be a good match. I'm not much for flowery nonsense, and you haven't a need for that. I know you have progressive views, and I'm not opposed to such things. Don't tell my father this, but I do feel that Russia could use some of your Western Progressivism."

"Really?"

He shrugged.

"Well, as I say, I'm not opposed. I would be inclined, shall we say, to allow my bride to introduce such ideas to the nation."

Charlotte turned to him, an amused smirk on her lips. "So you woo me with the promise of political influence?"

He laughed. "It's the way to a strong woman's heart, is it not?"

Charlotte's smile grew. "I suppose it is. I make you no promises, Alexander. However, you have made a very strong case for yourself."

He took a deep breath, and nodded. "Splendid. Give me word, yes? A proposal is an important matter after all, so that must be arranged. Then the engagement must be of proper length, not to mention the wedding ...."

"Alexander?" Charlotte said, clearly amused.

"Sorry. I’ve gotten several steps ahead of myself. Well, your uncle will know how to get word to me."

"Of course he will."

He stepped away from the railing, and bowed to her.

"Charlotte, it has been a true honor meeting you. I do hope to hear a good word from you soon."

"It's been a pleasure," Charlotte lied.

***

Charlotte flopped down on her bed with a loud sigh. Chris closed the door behind them, and sat down in the chair at Charlotte's dresser.

"Chris?"

"Yes ma'am?"

Charlotte sat up slowly.

"Contact Control. Have a fast car ready by the south gate in one hour."

"Ma'am?"

"We're going to make a break for it. If necessary, I permit you to shoot your way past the Coldstream Guards."

Chris laughed quietly. "Is it that bad?"

"Oh, Chris! This is only the first party of the summer, and I already feel exhausted. I don't know how I can keep this up for three months."

"Well," Chris said, "you'll have the second week in July at the Royal Residence in the country."

"An entire week, after a mere month of this? Yes, that will surely be sufficient."

Chris sighed. "I am sorry, Charlotte."

"So you won't arrange for a breakout?" Charlotte pouted.

Chris laughed, and shook her head. "I don't think it'd be advisable."

Charlotte placed the back of her hand on her forehead, and flopped dramatically to the bed. "Betrayed, by my own bodyguard. History shall surely remember you as third only after Brutus and Judas!"

Chris blinked. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"I have been shot. I have been abducted and thrown into a closet in Morocco. I have run barefoot across a road in France, and have battled two men twice my size and strength armed only with a stick. And yet I would gladly relive any of those moments if I could escape having to meet yet another dreary, pretentious, _suitor_."

"I ... see. Well, I can contact Control. See what they say. Ange might have a free moment."

Charlotte smiled, and shook her head. "I will survive this. Or so I keep telling myself."

***

The dinners, luncheons, balls, and meetings that occurred over the course of the following week blended together in Charlotte's mind. An endless procession of Crown Princes, Dukes, Counts, and heaven only knows what else danced, toasted, and swore undying love to her. Three times young, arrogant fops dropped to one knee before her, and three times Charlotte found herself in the awkward position of publicly refusing a proposal of marriage. After the third, a scowling Queen insisted that any such young men be taken aside first, before meeting the Princess, and informed more-or-less politely that it was not politic to be _quite_ so bold.

The state dinner for select Members of Parliament followed. It seemed as dreary and dull as the rest, but had the distinct advantage of not producing suitors for Charlotte's hand. She met a series of politicians, curtseying to some that kissed her hand, bowing slightly to those that shook her hand, and being curtsied to in turn by the wives of politicians.

An unfair assessment, Charlotte reminded herself. Women hadn't the vote in the Kingdom, nor could they serve in Parliament. The Commonwealth had the advantage there, as both rights had been granted two years prior. However, there were indeed female politicians.

"Mrs. Louise Sotherby, Your Highness," the lady said with a shallow curtsey. She was middle-aged, with greying brown hair. She still wore a gold band on her ring finger, even though she had lost her husband the previous year.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am," Charlotte replied with a smile.

She nodded. "And yours, madam. Tell me, have you any familiarity with my husband's work?"

Charlotte glanced uncertainly at her uncle, though he didn't appear to be paying attention.

"Yes, ma'am. A little, at least. He was a member of the Liberal party, yes?"

She nodded. "Yes, though he was ... well, shall we say he was displeased with the glacial slowness of change in this nation."

Charlotte pursed her lips. "He was one of the central figures in the reform movement as I recall."

"Yes, a movement lambasted for having Commonwealth sympathies. This current government ...."

She stopped talking as she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. The Duke of Normandy had wandered over in their direction.

"Mrs. Sotherby, a pleasure to see you here tonight."

Charlotte barely manged to avoid glaring at him.

The older woman smiled diplomatically. "Quite an honor to be invited, Your Grace."

Normandy's lips twisted into something somewhere between a sneer and a smile. "Well, your late husband was an esteemed member of the government, madam. We could hardly exclude you after all."

She smiled, and gave him a quick bow. "Well, I do thank you, Your Grace. I do believe that I shall talk to you later, Your Highness."

Charlotte smiled. "It shall be a pleasure."

The lady moved on, and the Duke frowned at Charlotte. "Mind her, Charlotte. It isn't especially good to be seen as too friendly with her."

"Whyever not?"

He shook his head. "She has ... notions. Let's just say that it'd do poorly for your reputation to be associated with her."

"I see," Charlotte said slowly. "I shall keep your advice in mind, uncle. Though I do wonder ... why was she invited tonight?"

Normandy scowled. "I assure you, Charlotte, I did not invite that woman. I haven't an idea why she's here."

"Hm. Does Her Majesty know?"

"Well, she _was_ invited. I just can't fathom who would've done so."

They exchanged another few meaningless pleasantries, before Normandy wondered off to speak to some old man Charlotte couldn't place but was doubtless of great importance.

As the vaguely aimless chatter turned into a highly-regulated formal state dinner, Charlotte couldn't help another odd guest at another table. A dark-haired woman in her mid-forties, with sharp features and a noble bearing. She sat in company of several MPs from Ireland, a number of which seemed displeased at her presence. Still, under the watchful eye of the Queen and the Prime Minister, diplomacy was the word of the day. Somehow the dinner finished without the Liberal, Labour, Conservative, Irish Unionist, and Irish Nationalist guests coming to blows, or even to especially harsh words.

As the dinner ended and people began to leave, Charlotte found herself wondering just how the list of guests had been decided upon. Not every member of Parliament had been present of course, and there was no particular pattern to their affiliations. There were even a few that were neither MPs, nor associated with Parliament in any particular way.

"Excuse me, madam?" It was Benjamin, leaning close to her and using a soft voice.

She turned to him with an uncertain look. "Yes?"

"Your presence is again required."

She frowned, and glanced around the room. Crown Prince Edward, the Queen, and the Duke of Normandy were in a little cluster, and the Prime Minister and First Lord of the Admiralty stood off to another corner.

"By whom, may I ask?"

Benjamin cast a nervous glance at Normandy. "If you please, madam. It is somewhat urgent."

"Alright," she replied. She stood, and was hurriedly ushered out of the ballroom, and through the corridors of the Royal Palace. She noticed Benjamin casting nervous glances behind him, and at numerous soldiers standing at attention.

Finally, they reached a good-sized parlor. He opened the door, and gestured for Charlotte to enter.

She did so, and he closed the door behind her without fanfare. She frowned heavily.

Mrs Sotherby and the dark-haired woman sat in plush chairs. Five men, all Members of Parliament, sat at various locations around the room.

When they noticed Charlotte enter, unannounced, they stood and bowed.

"Well. This is a surprise," Charlotte said, walking to the middle of the room. "Please, sit."

They did so, and she found an empty chair for herself.

"May I enquire what this is about?"

A man with handle-bar mustaches and a poorly combed-over bald spot stood. "Will you have a drink with us, Your Highness?"  
Charlotte pursed her lips. "Hm. Curious. You answer me with a question? As though you don't wish to approach the subject. Alright, Sir Reginald. I'll drink with you."

The man nodded, and walked over to a liquor cabinet. He opened it with a key, and Charlotte just managed to avoid gasping in shock. He placed out eight glasses, one for each person present. He poured measured volumes of brandy in seven glasses, and in the final glass he poured seltzer water.

An older gentleman with greying hair and a full beard pulled himself to his feet. He raised his glass of brandy. "Princess Charlotte: To your honor, and the hope that you will soon obtain the crown."

"Hear, hear!" called a younger man with shaggy blond hair and blue-green eyes.

"Cheers?" Charlotte responded.

After they drank in silence for a moment, Charlotte set her glass down. "Now, I would like my question answered."

The gentleman who had given the toast nodded. "Your Highness, we have come together with a proposition for you."

"Have you, Lord Greystone? What could possibly unite you with Mr Thompson, Mr Baker, and Mr Healy? You've hardly much in common politically."

"Your Highness, do you want to be Queen?" asked the dark-haired woman.

Charlotte looked at her with an even expression. "Naturally. Who would not?"

The woman smirked. "A careful answer. We don't propose a coup."

"With all due respect Your Ladyship, when an Irish Republican and Socialist asks me the question 'would you like to be queen', my mind does rather leap to that conclusion."

Mr Thompson, the man with shaggy blond hair, laughed.

"We would appreciate it if you take this meeting seriously," the dark-haired woman said with a frown.

"Countess Libewitz, I am attempting to do so, however I have very little to go on. Why, exactly, have you called me here? Surely not just to toast to my health."

"Your Highness," Mr Baker, the man to not drink alcohol, said, "We have come together to form a party of opposition. We've severe concerns regarding the direction the nation is headed. Whereas the Commonwealth has moved boldly forward into the 20th century, enacting many progressive laws and accepting change, the Kingdom has become mired in the delusion of its own grandeur."

Mr Healy, a thin man with light brown hair, nodded. "The Kingdom faces a second conflict very soon. There are those who are losing patience with what is increasingly seen as an occupying army in Ireland."

"There is no patience to lose," Countess Libewitz snapped. "We were physically oppressed in the Revolution, the vaunted Commonwealth army didn't lift so much as a finger to aid its Irish allies, and now we've reached the point that armed rebellion is the only possible option. Unless you, madam, can take the reigns of power and chart a new course."

"I see. Hence Labour, Liberal, Irish National, Irish Home-rule ... dare I call you a Conservative, Mr Baker?"

The man scowled. "I've not yet crossed the aisle, but rest assured my heart beats Red."  
  
"Socialist then."

Mr Baker nodded.

"An unholy alliance," Sir Reginald said severely, "but a necessary one, we feel."

"And you wish me to be your pet royal?"

"Your Highness," Mr Baker spoke out, "you want to end poverty. Give women rights equal to men. Let Ireland decide its own course. Pull back from the Colonies, as much as practical. You want to allow perfect religious freedom in this nation, and end the discrimination against Catholics, Jews, Muslims, and Hindus. You desire to wear the Crown, and wield the Sceptres to make these things come to pass. Or are we wrong?"

She took a deep breath. "You are not wrong."

Lord Greystone nodded. "Then you stand with us. We may not agree on all details that will go into this Party of Progress ...."

Countess Libewitz chuckled at this, drawing a glare from Mr Healy.

"However," Lord Greystone continued, "in the main, we are in agreement. The 20th century is the century of the people, not the aristocrats, not the royals, and not the church."

"I agree," Charlotte stated.

The seven others in the room visibly relaxed.

"I knew it," Mr Thompson stated with a grin.

"However," Charlotte continued, "as much as I do agree with you, I fear that I cannot openly stand with you."

"You needn't," Mr Healy said.

"It is to be the reverse," Lord Greystone said. "You are to introduce progressive ideas to the world, or continue to do so. We, as a party, will come out in support of those ideas. You can easily deny being associated with us, or even in agreement with our methods."

"We'll be getting our hands dirty," Mrs Sotherby said in a quiet voice. "Voting in favor of progressive laws, whoever proposes them. Voting against regressive and repressive laws, whatever their source. We will be disrupting the meetings of our enemies, and those of us not fortunate enough to serve in Parliament, or able cast a vote in general elections, will use our bodies as statements. I am far from the only suffragette that will risk arrest, brutality, and even death for the sake of this new Progressive Party."

Charlotte looked at her for a long moment, before finally nodding.

"Alright. Ladies, Gentlemen ... you have my support. I will count on your support in turn, when the time calls for it."

"We'll support you," Mr Healy said.

The others nodded in turn.

"Now, seize the throne," Countess Libewitz said with a smirk.

***

June passed without anything more interesting. July arrived, and with it the closest thing Charlotte would have to a holiday this summer. She packed light, Chris as usual packing all her belongings into a simple duffel bag. It would be just the two of them.

And Gazelle Flint.

The private royal train was uncomfortably familiar to Charlotte. She realized it wasn't the same car. It wasn't the same engine. They were headed to the private Royal Residence in Yorkshire, so even the scenery was different. And yet ... she couldn't help but pace the corridor nervously.

Chris and Gazelle sat toward the rear of the car, watching as the Princess reached the front, paused for a moment, before spinning and walking slowly back towards them.

"Your Highness," Gazelle said in a voice as even as she could manage, "might you be more comfortable sitting down? It's still another," she glanced at her wristwatch. "three-quarters hour journey."

She sighed, and stopped beside them.

"Sorry. Just, since that incident last year I've never felt entirely comfortable on trains."

Chris glanced uncertainly at Gazelle, then at the Princess. "The Japanese assassination attempt?"

Charlotte nodded. "Yes. A horrid experience, all told."

Gazelle frowned. "I understand your nerves. However, this time you've the best agents of the Secret Service Bureau, under my direct command, guarding your person. Not to mention Chris. No one outside of us, and the Royal Family, even knows that you're traveling alone to the Residence. It's been kept out of the papers."

"I saw at least one reporter taking a photograph of the Royal Train before it departed the station," Charlotte grumbled.

Chris shifted awkwardly. "I had ... a word with her. She's an acquaintance I've worked with in the past."

Charlotte glanced at her, and Chris nodded.

"She won't cause problems."

Gazelle glanced at Chris with a heavy frown, but said nothing.

***

The Residence was a quiet peaceful place. An Elizabethan manor house, modernized quite recently with electric lighting and heat, it was isolated in the Yorkshire countryside. The only reminder of the nation's uncertainty was a squad of red-coated soldiers and a small swarm of Secret Service Bureau agents.

Charlotte took in a very deep breath, stretching her arms out and smiling.

"Freedom," she cried out.

Chris smiled at her. "This is nice."

"It's a security risk," Gazelle muttered.

Charlotte frowned at her.

"Gazelle, you are far too dour."

"I'm realistic, Your Highness. We're isolated from the world here. There are no telephones. The nearest city is an uncomfortably far distance. At that, the front line is far too close for my liking."

Charlotte shook her head. "You say that like it's heavily fortified and entrenched, with barbed wire and land-mines. The major roads have wooden guard houses on either side of the border. Ms Flint, you know that the Commonwealth and Kingdom border guards frequently take tea together when the traffic is light, yes?"

Gazelle scowled. "Yes, and that's my concern, Your Highness. The border up here is far too porous. This is much too attractive a target for Commonwealth spies. Or dare I say, assassins."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Dour. Dour, dour, dour! Gazelle Flint, you should learn to be free and light, like your namesake."

"The gazelle lives in continual fear of lions and cheetahs, madam. With all due respect, I'll remain as I am."

"Pooh!"

***

After a picnic luncheon, which Charlotte insisted Gazelle attend, Charlotte spent the afternoon wandering through the gardens, chatting amicably with the gardener. She climbed a tree in the back yard, looking out over the security wall around the estate. She sighed, taking in the gentle, rolling hills and dales dotted with farms and distant clouds of sheep drifting across the greenery.

Gazelle was apoplectic, and ordered soldiers to raise a ladder to her and carry her bodily down to the ground. Charlotte, scowling, retired to her room, and only came out reluctantly for supper. She retired to her room shortly afterward. Chris joined her.

"Chris," Charlotte sighed languidly as she sat on her bed, "will you open a window? It's stuffy in here."

"Of course, ma'am."

She opened the window, and leaned out. They were on the second floor. The tree was halfway between Charlotte's room and the security wall. "It's certainly a nice night out," she said.

Charlotte nodded in agreement. "It is. The fresh air is a nice change. Chris, will you get us tea?"

She turned, and nodded with a smile. "Alright, I'll ...."

Chris stopped talking. Her smile vanished, and her eyes went wide. Her hand went to the back of her neck. She staggered forward, and collapsed.

Charlotte rose, eyes widening in shock and surprise. A thin, athletic figure in a black body-suit slipped in through the open window, rapidly closing the distance and clamping a black-gloved hand over Charlotte's mouth. Charlotte looked into the figure's eyes, and blinked. A wide, amused smirk stretched across the figure's lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Gazelle Flint heard the sound of glass breaking.

There was a reason that she had been assigned to babysit the Princess despite having better things to do. Normandy had called it a "credible threat," though he hadn't been clear if it was from the Commonwealth, the Irish, the Bolshevists, or some other party. Regardless, it had been serious enough to warrant the assignment of the SSB's finest agent.

Needless to say, she was at Charlotte's door with her automatic pistol drawn in seconds. The door was unlocked, which she found worrying. She pushed the door open abruptly, ducking and raising her gun.

She noticed first that the window had been broken from the outside. Shards of glass littered the floor. The window latch was not set, however. Like the main door to her room, it could have been easily opened from the outside.

Next, she saw Chris lying on the floor. Unmoving. Gazelle noticed the woman was breathing, so spent no more attention on her.

She moved over to the window, looking out, her pistol still at the ready. A thin grapple-line ran from just below Charlotte's window to the tree.

She started to turn, and heard Chris groan. The blonde moved slowly, and Gazelle knelt down beside her.

"Report," Gazelle said in a calm, if demanding, voice.

"Opened the window to let in fresh air. Pain in the neck ...." She reached back, and pulled a small dart out of her skin. She blinked, and glanced at it.

"You are relieved. Report at once to the infirmary."

"But ...."

"That is an order," Gazelle stated, standing and running out to the hallway. She knew something wasn't right here, but she put it to one side. Her priority was clear, and it didn't involve pondering the oddities of the situation. That could wait.

Her pistol still drawn, she ran through the hall to the stairs. There were two soldiers standing at attention.

"Follow me," she commanded.

"Yes ma'am," both responded. Their eyes grew wide with alarm.

Gazelle ran out the back door, and over to the tree. All three could see both the grapple line running from the tree to Charlotte's window, and a second from the tree to the wall. One soldier, readying his rifle, ran over to the wall, looking up at the wall, the line, and tree.

The other walked over to the tree trunk, and pulled something off of it.

"Ma'am?"

It was a paper. Gazelle frowned, and looked at it.

 

 

> _You've misplaced a Princess? We seem to've found one._
> 
> _If you want her back intact, take 1 million pounds sterling to the address given below._
> 
> _We'll gladly take half a million instead if you'll accept half a Princess back in exchange._
> 
> _Of course you can also just fuck right out of Ireland and call it good but we doubt that'll happen._
> 
> _You've three days. After that your Princess shall be returned to you over the course of the following week, one piece at a time._

 

***

 

The Duke of Normandy reread the letter for the fourth time. Gazelle Flint and Chris stood at attention in front of his desk. Neither one had said anything.

He scowled at the paper, then turned his scowl to Gazelle.

"Remind me Ms Flint: what security arrangements were in place?"

"I was on scene at the estate to oversee Secret Service activity."

"And?"

"And I received no report of suspicious activity."

"How do you explain this?" he asked, gesturing with the paper.

"I do not, sir."

He turned his scowl at Chris.

"And what were you doing, when you were supposed to be directly guarding the Princess?"

"I was where I was supposed to be sir, at the Princess' side."

"And yet somehow, you were found face-down on the floor in her otherwise empty bedroom."

"I was attacked by surprise, sir."

"Surprise. Yes, you were taken by surprise, the both of you. I shall not mince words: Rescue the Princess and prevent this money from going into the hands of the Irish terrorists. Your livelihood is on the line."

"Yes sir," they both answered.

He turned his scowl back down to the paper, and the two filed out of his office. Gazelle led Chris to her own private office, closed the door, and sat down at her desk. Chris found herself again standing at attention.

"I have an agent delivering the ransom money. You'll back him up. You'll rescue the Princess, keep the million pounds from vanishing, and kill all the terrorists involved. If you fail, then shortly after the Home Secretary destroys my career I shall personally sever every one of your limbs, beginning with your toes and working my way upwards. Do I make myself clear?"

Chris swallowed.

"Yes ma'am."

"That's all," Gazelle said dismissively.

***

Charlotte sat on a very uncomfortable wooden chair. Standing beside her was a very tall, muscular man with greying brown hair and a full beard. The man held his arms crossed in front of his chest, and wasn't paying attention to her.

Across from them both, a young girl, around Charlotte's age, sat at a table. She was reading through a stack of papers.

"Was it really necessary to shoot her?"

The girl glanced up at her with a neutral expression. "You agreed to this, Lotte."

"Only on the condition that no one be harmed, Brianna."

She shrugged, and looked back at her papers. "Was just a knock-out drug. She probably woke up in time to be yelled at by that Flint woman."

Charlotte frowned. "Still, she had no intention to resist you."

"Yeah, and that wouldn't have fooled your three year old niece, let alone the Secret Service. My boss wanted me to cut you just to leave some of your blood behind for 'em to find."

"Well, I thank you for not doing so."

Brianna shrugged.

"Was tempting." She looked up with a smirk, and held her index- and forefingers together with a sliver of air between them. "Little bit."

Charlotte sighed.

The door opened, and a man with bushy red hair peeked in.

"One man, attaché case and white top-hat."

"Check him for weapons and let him through," Brianna ordered. He nodded, and closed the door.

"I'm surprised, by the way." Charlotte said casually. "I never expected that your team would have so many men."

Brianna shrugged. "My team's just like yours, actually: all girls, all Mayfair students. I borrowed these lads for the evening. Best if you not know the identity of anyone else I work with. Hell, for all you know that cute little wind-up friend of yours could be one of us."

Charlotte had to grin at the image of Beatrice holding a rifle and shouting a Gaelic battle-cry.

"I doubt that, somehow."

Brianna just shrugged.

The door opened, and a man in a white suit and top hat was shoved into the room by the redhead. He closed the door after him.

The man nodded at Charlotte, and turned to Brianna.

"I have the money. One million pounds sterling."

She gestured at the table. "Show me."

He nodded, placing the attaché case on the table. He opened it, revealing stacks and stacks of money.

***

Chris took a deep breath, and drew her revolver. She had waited the prearranged amount of time. It would be risky. This was Commonwealth territory, and everyone in this neighborhood was either Irish or sympathetic. She had to get this right.

She sprinted across the street to the door the man in the white suit had entered. She glanced around herself, and tested the door. Unlocked. She entered. The space beyond was dark and empty. There were three more doors. Two were dark, the third had a light on above it. She moved to this door. Again, she took a deep breath, readied her revolver, and pushed the door open.

***

The half-dozen men in the room jolted in surprise as the door was flung open. Charlotte looked up hurriedly to see Chris dart into the room, revolver raised.

"Put that damn thing away," Brianna said in annoyance, not looking up from the money.

The tension left the room, and the white-suited man turned to Brianna with a frown.

"Are all these theatrics necessary?"

"Yeah, kinda. Plausible deniability, ya know? Or would you rather the Dick of Normandy figure out that the Princess and her bodyguard are all colluding with a double agent in the Secret Service to get a million pounds to the Irish Republican Brotherhood?"

He shifted awkwardly.

"I risk exposure. This risks The Princess and her bodyguard. This risks you, even."

Brianna shrugged. "Eggs and omelettes, I guess. Just be glad I'm allowed to let you escape alive."

He muttered something else, and Chris shook her head. "We should hurry this bit up."

Brianna sighed, and closed the attaché case. "Fine. Oh no. Intruder. Those bastards backstabbed us. Get her."

Charlotte rolled her eyes, and stood. She walked over to where Chris and the white-suited man stood. Brianna and the Irish men stood, and moved over to one side.

Chris fired several shots into the wall near where Brianna had been sitting. She then stepped to one side, as Brianna fired several shots from her revolver into the door.

Then, Chris tore the door open, and she, the Princess, and the man in the white top hat ran through.

Brianna leaned out through the door and fired two more shots. The bullets zipped past Charlotte, hitting the wall beside the outer door. Chris tore this open, and the three ran out. Chris turned and fired twice in the general direction of the building.

Lights were turning on in the houses around them, and they heard shouts.

The three continued running until they were able to duck down a nearby alley, and slip through a hidden passage into a safe-house.

***

The Duke of Normandy sat at his desk. His face was a purplish hue, and several veins stood out in his neck and forehead. Chris and Gazelle stood in front of the desk at attention.

"Well. You managed to rescue the Princess. Whilst somehow losing the money, and allowing all of the terrorists to escape. I don't know how, frankly."

Gazelle and Chris shared a quick glance.

Normandy sighed. "And to make matters even more profoundly wonderful, the Queen, the Prime Minister, and Princess Charlotte herself have all three written letters of thanks to the both of you. Since she was rescued, unharmed, every other portion of this government, besides security and treasury oddly enough, are willing to write this whole thing off as a mistake. Oops!"

Gazelle shifted her weight awkwardly. She looked down and started tracing the pattern in the rug below her feet.

Normandy clenched his hands into tight fists, then opened them slowly. He stood up.

"So somehow, Ms Flint, I must commend you for your splendid work in this incident. I suspect many more successes of the sort will send me to an early grave. Naturally, I shall not enter it alone."

Her eyes snapped back up to his. She debated answering him, and decided it would be more prudent to simply allow him to rant.

"And you," he said turning to Chris, "are somehow not released from service to the Princess. The Queen expressed gratitude that you were at her side. Gratitude! You have the Queen's gratitude for being shot with a poison dart. Pity you weren't shot by an actual bullet, you would have earnt a Victoria Cross for it."

Chris kept her expression neutral.

Normandy again sighed.

"So. Well done, I suppose. To the both of you. Ms Flint, I do not want to see you, hear from you, or have any reminders of your existence for at least a week."

"Yes sir," she said evenly.

He scowled at her, then at Chris for good measure. "Get out of my office!"

They winced and hurriedly left. Again, Gazelle directed Chris to her office. Chris took a very deep breath, before coming to attention.

Gazelle sat down with a sigh. "That went well," she deadpanned.

Chris remained silent.

"I appear to still have a career, so I suppose you get to keep your limbs. Besides, the Princess would become upset if her favorite bodyguard were dismembered unnecessarily."

Chris couldn't quite keep a thin grin off her lips. Gazelle noticed. And rather than becoming angry, chuckled.

"Well, Chris. Thank you for at least rescuing the Princess. I sincerely hope that I never have to see you ever again. No offense."

"None taken, ma'am," Chris responded, still smiling.

***

Charlotte lay on her bed. Or rather, a bed in a room with no windows at the estate. She had been allowed to return despite the kidnapping attempt, but with the backlash she might as well have been at the Royal Palace. There were no parties, suppers, meetings, or _suitors ..._ but she had lost her freedom. Eggs and omelettes, as Brianna had said.

The door opened, and Charlotte turned languidly to look. Chris entered the room.

"Two gifts for you," she said quietly.

"Oh? What would those be?"

"First, a letter from Beatrice."

Chris handed it to her, and Charlotte sat up hurriedly. She grabbed the envelope with a smile.

"But, before you open that, I recommend you take a look at the second gift."

Charlotte frowned, but set the unopened envelope on her nightstand. Chris stepped out of the room with a widening grin. Charlotte tilted her head in confusion.

Until a second person, in a maid's uniform, hastily stepped into the room, and Chris closed the door.

No words were spoken: Ange was at her side, her arms tightly around Charlotte, almost at the same moment that the Princess realized who the visitor was. Their lips pressed together, chewing and suckling with urgency, as Charlotte felt herself pressed back against the bed.

Ange broke the kiss. "Missed you," she whispered with a wavering voice, before claiming Charlotte's lips again.

Charlotte managed to pull back from the kiss. She panted. "Missed you."

Ange, punctuating her words with eager quick kisses, said "Don't ever ... want to be ... away from ... you ... for so ... so long ... ever ... ever again."

Charlotte pulled away again, and sat up in bed. Ange didn't give her a moment, before clinging again to her, cuddling and nuzzling against her. Ange was shuddering.

"Ange?"

The girl sniffled.

"Are you crying?"

Ange nodded.

"Oh, my darling. What happened?"

Ange managed to pull away, enough to look into Charlotte's eyes. Her cheeks were stained with tears. "Killed them."

Charlotte took a deep breath. "The General?"

Ange nodded. "Yes. And all the others. Lost two agents."

"Oh no."

"Captured. One ... swallowed poison. The other ... torture, shock, starvation. Something. Died."

"Oh Charlotte," Princess whispered. The Spy sobbed, and nuzzled against Charlotte's neck again.

"Still killed them all. I .…"

"What is it, Charlotte?"

"General. Had to get close to kill him. I had to ... I mean, like how Dorothy ...."

"What do you mean? You let him ... I mean, you .…"

"I didn't," Ange took a deep shuddering breath. "It didn't go that far. Further than I wanted. Killed him though."

Princess held her tightly, gently running her hands through the Spy's hair.

"This is really bothering you. Were the agents you lost friends?"

Ange shook her head.

"Were you traumatized by ... I mean, by having to use those methods to approach the General?"

Again, Ange shook her head.

"It cannot simply be from killing. You have done that before many times. Then what has you so upset, Charlotte?"

"I didn't have you. You're my strength. With you, for you, I can do anything."

"Darling Charlotte. Will you be alright?"

Ange took a deep breath, and pulled away from Princess. She nodded. Charlotte smiled and wiped the tears from Ange's cheeks.

"Good. You need to be strong."

Ange took a deep breath. "I am. I _was_ , until I saw you again. My ... my walls collapsed."

Charlotte wasn't sure if she should laugh or not. Instead, she leaned in and kissed Ange's lips softly.

"Isn't that strange, then? I am your strength, but you can be so weak around me."

Ange nodded. "I can accept it."

There was a knock at the door. Ange and Charlotte shared a look, then Ange hastily dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed.

"Come in?"

Chris opened the door.

"Sorry. Flint's due back early. We have to leave."

There was a heavy sigh under Charlotte's bed. "I shall remain here."

Chris and Charlotte looked at one another.

"Charlotte," the Princess said evenly, "There cannot be two of me here, and though your present disguise is evidently sufficient to fool the soldiers, Ms Flint is quite familiar with all the servants in the household."

There was another sigh, and Ange crawled out from under the bed.

"I wish we had more time," she said as she pulled herself to her feet.

"We shall soon."

"Another month before school starts. That is not 'soon.' "

"It is the best we can do, darling. Now go. If Flint finds you, we'll be apart for a fair bit longer."

Ange nodded, leaning in and pressing her lips to Charlotte's again.

"Love you," Ange whispered.

"Love you," Charlotte responded.

Ange stood, reluctantly, and stepped back out of the room.

"Chris?"

She looked at Charlotte questioningly.

"Thank you," Charlotte smiled.

Chris nodded, and closed the door.

Charlotte sighed. The room suddenly felt very small, very dark, and very quiet. She turned to her nightstand, and picked up the letter from Beatrice.

 

 

> _Princess Charlotte,_  

> _Thank you so very much for your letter of the 16th. I can't imagine dancing so much, or meeting so many young men knowing you would be forced to marry one of them! Please, Your Highness, I pray that you can find a way to politely refuse them all. I should not want to lose you in such a way._
> 
> _Summer school is interesting. I am meeting many fascinating people, and learning new things. We are actually going over many of the topics that I have been studying over the last year, but it's nice to have the additional practice._
> 
> _I miss you so desperately! I long to be in your company again, and to embrace you and to hear your voice. Also, I shudder to think what they have done with your hair! I shall have to spend at least a day combing it out when we meet again. I do hope you'll let me!_
> 
> _Well, I have run out of the paper and ink they are allowing me for this letter, so I shall close and say_  

> _With Greatest Love and Affection,_
> 
> _Beatrice._

 

Charlotte sighed again. She returned the letter to the envelope, and set it back on her nightstand. She lay back in bed, her legs hanging off over the edge. She stared up at the darkened ceiling.

"Darling Beato," she whispered. "You must also stay strong, my dearest."

She closed her eyes. "I do pray that I do not break your heart."

***

The journey back to London saw Charlotte sitting in the railcar beside Chris. On the other side of the aisle, Gazelle Flint sat next to a Secret Service Bureau agent. Four police constables, three with shotguns and one with a Thompson submachine gun, sat at various locations around the train. Finally, six soldiers with rifles and bayonets sat, three at the rear and three at the front.

Though it was awkward, the train ride was without incident.

***

Charlotte sat at her dressing table. She wore a simple blue dress, as she was only expected to attend a casual luncheon with some noble ladies. Naturally, she expected the chief topic of conversation to be their eligible sons and nephews. It would be dreary, but at least there would be cucumber sandwiches and tea.

There was a knock at her open door, and Benjamin peeked in.

"Your Highness, are you free?"

"Is there yet another conspiracy I must attend to?" Charlotte sighed, turning to him.

"The King of Hanover desires a private audience with you," he replied patiently.

"Does he?" Charlotte pursed her lips. "Didn't he recently lose his wife?"

The ends of Benjamin's lips twisted into a thin smile. "Yes madam, I believe so."

She sighed. "I had hoped to go the entire day without having to decline a suitor."

Benjamin shrugged without comment, though his smile widened a touch.

"Very well," Charlotte said in exasperation. She rose to her feet. "Lead on, whatever plague and peril await."

"Very good, Madam," Benjamin replied patiently.

She followed him through the corridors of the palace, out of the residential wing, and to a medium sized parlor. An unusual choice for such a meeting, Charlotte mused to herself.

Benjamin opened the door.

"Her Highness, Princess Charlotte."

The King of Hanover stood. He was a tall man of middle age, with short-cropped dark hair greying at the temples, and goatee and mustache. He wore a dark blue military uniform, an impressive set of ribbons and badges on the left side of his chest. A peaked cap lay on the table, next to a pair of white gloves and a silver-tipped cane.

"Your Majesty," Charlotte extended her hand to him.

"Princess Charlotte," he said, taking her hand lightly. She curtsied, as he bowed, his lips just barely above but not touching her knuckles. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

He gestured for her to sit, and she did so. He nodded thanks to Benjamin, who backed out of the room and closed the door.

"Of course. To be honest, I cannot think why you should want to see me in the first place."

He sat, and regarded her for a moment. "I have a proposal for you."

Charlotte's eyes grew wide, and she gasped in feigned surprise and indignation. "Sir, that would be most inappropriate. You are nearly twice my age ...."

He laughed. "No, you misunderstand me. Perhaps I chose my words poorly. I don't seek your hand in marriage."

"Then what do you seek?"

He sighed. "My wife died a year ago. Died in childbirth, did you know? I am left without a wife, and without an heir. I suppose I can see why you would assume ... but I do not intend to remarry. I do not intend to have another child."

Charlotte frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, I fail to see how I can help you then. A proposal of marriage would at least make sense, even if I'd be forced to decline you."

"I want to name you my heir."

Charlotte blinked in surprise. She gulped, and took a deep breath.

"That ... that is impossible. Hanover does not allow women to attain the throne. If it did my grandmother would be Queen of Hanover and there'd be no question."

"A royal decree, backed by the approval of Hanover's States-General, can change that law. And shall change it."

"But ... why me? You could approach the Crown Prince. Name Edward your heir, and not have to make the change."

He shook his head.

"He isn't acceptable. I won't go in to why. Your cousins David and Arthur are also considered unacceptable."

Charlotte frowned.

"I still don't understand though. Of the many, many royals and nobles in Europe ... why _me_?"

"You are young, charismatic, and influential. You are a relative, however distant. You would have a claim to the throne, were it not for our strict laws. You're also a woman of the 20th century, and whether or not the Old Guard of Europe understand it, the privileges we've come to take for granted will be undermined, if not demolished, in the coming years. We need someone who _does_ understand this, and can guide us boldly into that future. Charlotte, I believe you are the best one to do this. The States-General agrees, and has already drafted the change to the law. You need merely accept, and the change will be made official."

"I ... this is sudden, sir. I don't know what to say."

"Say yes, Charlotte. You'll be Queen of Hanover. Don't you want to rule?"

"With all due respect Your Majesty, I want to rule _Albion_."

"This doesn't jeopardize that. I'd daresay it'd strengthen your claim if there's a dispute. The Crown Princess, if not Queen, of Hanover would be more attractive, surely, than a drunkard layabout more interested in cricket scores and dance-halls than leading his nation."

Charlotte took a deep breath.

"Sir, while I will advise you not to speak ill of the members of my family ... you may have a point."

The King bowed his head, with a thin smile. "Apologies, Your Highness."

"I need to discuss this matter with ... with an intimate friend."

"Oh, have you already selected a fiancé in secret?"

"Something of the sort, yes."

He nodded. "Tell no one that you needn't. Only those you most trust. I don't want this in the papers without my placing it there."

"I quite understand. My friend is nothing if not discreet."

"Good. If you agree, let me know. Visit me in Hanover. You shall have the key to the city. I'll hold a feast in your honor, with dancing and music. I may even have a symphony composed for you. Then of course I shall publicly unveil the new law and name you my heir."

"Someone stands to inherit Hanover currently now though, yes? What if they should protest this situation?"

He shrugged. "Some incompetent flub of a baron in the German States would gain the territory. He has already been ... approached, let us say. He sees the wisdom of not standing in the way of progress."

"I see. Well, when I have decided, I shall let you know."

***

"This way, Your Highness," Gazelle Flint said, hurriedly leading Charlotte through the halls of the palace.

Charlotte frowned, but sensed the urgency in her voice. "What's going on?" she asked.

Gazelle didn't answer, leading her instead to the conference room. A soldier beside the door saluted, and opened it. Charlotte nodded at him.

"Go ahead, I've another matter to attend to," Gazelle said, already turning and striding off.

Charlotte frowned, but walked into the room.

She blinked in surprise. At the table sat the Duke of Normandy, the Prime Minister, Foreign Secretary, Defense Secretary, First Lord of the Admiralty, and perhaps most glaringly obvious, Lord Gaveston.

The next thing she noticed was, spread out upon the table, a series of maps showing Morocco, the Maghreb, and Casablanca. Her stomach twisted, and a brief wave of dizziness passed over her.

"Take a seat," the Prime Minister said curtly.

Charlotte nodded, and staggered over to the chair beside Lord Gaveston. A soldier pulled the chair out for her.

"There's been an uprising in Casablanca," the Foreign Secretary said without prelude. Charlotte gasped, and glanced at Gaveston. His expression was dark with worry.

"Last report," the Defense Secretary began, "indicates that the majority of Albion citizens were evacuated aboard the airship HMS _Orlando_."

"Majority?" Charlotte said, her voice wavering.

Her uncle picked up a piece of paper.

"According to the report, both Lily Gaveston and the Japanese, Chise Todo, are listed amongst those on the _Orlando_."

"Wait ... just them?"

Lord Gaveston's brows furrowed, and he leaned forward.

"My daughter was quite specific that she was taking holiday in company of _two_ friends."

Normandy frowned. "We've a full list of everyone evacuated, but we're still going through it. We made sure these two were safe, out of respect for the two of you."

"Please," Charlotte said as firmly as she could, "let us know as soon as you can. Her name is Marilla ...."

"We have more important things to be concerned with than one errant schoolgirl," the Prime Minister snapped testily.

"Sir," Lord Gaveston responded with equal heat, "the safety and happiness of my daughter is foremost in my mind, and that would include the safety and happiness of her friends. I should consider it a personal favor, to both myself and to Her Highness Princess Charlotte, if this information be made known to us just as soon as humanly possible."

"Gentlemen please," Normandy said sharply. "This is no time for heated words. We are working to collate the list of those citizens evacuated from Casablanca by airship, and by other means, to those known to be present. When we know, you'll know."

"Besides, the _Orlando_ will be arriving in Gibraltar in," the Defense Secretary glanced at his pocket watch. "In 45 minutes. We'll get another report shortly after that."

Gaveston and Charlotte glanced at one another.

"Have we any need to be here until then?" Gaveston asked.

The Prime Minister glowered at them both. "No. It'd be best if you wait elsewhere frankly."

Gaveston took a deep breath, and nodded. He stood without another word, and scooted Charlotte's chair out for her. He glanced at her and gestured to the door. She nodded, and lightly took his forearm, letting him lead her out.

As the door closed behind them, Gaveston stopped and turned to her. "A word, your highness? In private."

"Of course, sir." She glanced at a nearby soldier, who promptly saluted and led them down the corridors of the palace to an empty parlor. He saluted as they entered, and closed the door behind them.

Gaveston gestured at a chair, and Charlotte sat.

"I have some ... questions."

"How can I help you, sir?"

"How is my daughter doing at academy?"

Charlotte considered her answer carefully.

"Well, sir. Her grades are good, and she is enjoying classes ...."

"I don't refer to her academic life, Your Highness."

Charlotte frowned.

"I don't quite take your meaning, sir."

"I've heard rumors that she is in an ... unconventional relationship. With one, or perhaps even both, of the young ladies she is with in Casablanca."

Charlotte took a deep breath, and kept her expression neutral. "I believe perhaps this is a matter to discuss direct with your daughter."

"I intend to, yes. But with what has happened ...."

"Did you hear these rumors after they left? I can't help but note that you not only approved the holiday, you practically financed it."

"I did, yes. I mean, I allowed Lily to go. I had heard the rumors beforehand. I felt, I suppose, that there was no harm in it. That perhaps time alone with ... with them might clarify things in her mind."

"Clarify?"

"Well, I'm not known for progressive views I suppose. I take the law as it is, you see. And I suppose were it someone else's daughter, I could become properly indignant at the immorality and breach of tradition. I just can't bring myself to it when it comes to my own."

"Sir, with all due respect, I still feel that this is an issue for yourself and your daughter. I don't feel it my place to either confirm or deny her romantic attachments."

He sighed, and nodded.

"I apologize, Your Highness. I just ... I've surprised myself, frankly. You heard it, when that pompous ass dismissed Miss Marilla ... she is, or I should say may be, a beloved of my daughter. Certainly a very intimate friend at least. To imagine that he would think so little of her ...."

"I quite understand, sir."

He shrugged. "Well. I suppose there's nothing for it but sit down with Lily once she returns safe. Learn just what exactly she feels. I mean, if she is a sapphist, then she needs my love and support more than ever, yes?"

"I would agree, sir. It cannot be easy to go against society. Not even for love."

He looked at her for a long moment, before finally nodding firmly.

"Thank you, Your Highness. You have helped clarify things in my mind, even without quite directly confirming them."

"I'm glad to help, sir."

***

"Almost over," Charlotte whispered to herself.

"Pardon, madam?"

"Oh, it's nothing, Maribel. Well, honestly I am looking forward to returning to school."

"I see. Well, I've never been to school madam. I mean, not an academy like you. Is it nice?"

Charlotte smiled. "It is. There are so many fascinating things out there in the world."

The maid shrugged. "To me, the fascinating ones are you, and the Queen, and folk like you."

Charlotte shook her head. "We're really not that interesting."

"Well, I disagree madam. With all due respect of course."

Charlotte looked at herself in the mirror. She had again been washed and primped and trimmed. Tonight was the last major event of the summer, a grand ball in honor of the dignitaries of the German States. Dukes, counts, barons, politicians, and businessmen would all be in attendance. And of course their eligible young sons would be there to gawk and bid for her attention.

The ballroom was again busy with dance when Charlotte arrived. Charlotte took a thin flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and moved to stand amongst the crowd.

She sipped her drink, and frowned. Had she any real interest in matrimony, this would be her best chance. There were many young German nobles milling about, or dancing with young girls, or sipping champagne as they considered their odds with any given eligible young woman.

She told herself that she should move out of the crowd, and make herself available. That she should find some disposable and forgettable dance partner to make a good showing of it. She told herself that she would eventually have to do _something_ to prevent her uncle from forcing the Crown Prince of Russia on her ... but she was tired. She wanted nothing more than to curl up at Ange's side and rest in her warm embrace for a month.

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw a figure moving toward her. It was the ash-blond hair that made her gasp in surprise and turn hurriedly.

It was a young man with blue eyes and a soft, clean-shaven face, wearing a tuxedo rather than a military uniform like so many of the others. There was no way to mistake him for anyone else that she might have preferred to dance with at that moment. Not once she had a good look at him.

Still, as a pair of women parted to let him pass, she could hear whispers. Someone glanced between the two of them with a look of delighted indignant shock, and turned to her neighbor to gossip in an overloud whisper.

Charlotte forced herself to remain calm.

"Princess Charlotte?" He had a confident voice, with a hint of a German accent.

"Yes, sir. I don't believe I know you."

"Lord George Saxe-Jena, son and heir apparent of Duke Ernst IV of Saxe-Jena."

Charlotte forced a smile to her lips, and held her hand out to him. He took it lightly, and as she curtsied to him, he bowed. His lips hovered just above, not touching, her knuckles.

"It's a pleasure, your Lordship."

"Please, I'd rather not bother with formality. If I may call you Charlotte?"

"Very well. George, was it?"

He nodded. "Would you like to dance?"

"Bold and direct. Alright."

A new waltz was just beginning, and George led Charlotte out to the dance floor. Charlotte heard gasps, mutters, and whispers around her. She kept her expression even.

George placed his hand on her mid-back, and Charlotte's hand rested on his forearm, their free hands clasping lightly. George was competent, and though far from graceful, made no errors.

"I suppose you're here to woo me?" Charlotte asked, a cynical edge to her voice.

"Naturally, though I'd rather do so in a private room with a place to sit, and access to strong drink."

Charlotte glanced at him in surprise, and a thin grin crossed his lips.

"Well," She said with a smile, "I can lead us to a suitable parlor after this dance ends."

"Your family won't be concerned?"

"No. Some will be positively delighted, in fact."

"Hm."

They said no more for the rest of the waltz. As the dance went on, both relaxed, finding their rhythm. George's steps became smoother and more confident. His hand slipped down Charlotte's back fractionally. She forced herself to place her hand on his shoulder, and dance just a touch closer to him.

When the music ended, she clasped his forearm with her hands, and led him off the floor. Threading her way past and through throngs of gawkers who were chattering eagerly with one another on the subject of the Princess and the handsome young German she had been dancing with -- _A might too closely_ , complained one spinster with utter delight.

Her uncle Edward stood by the door, just behind the Queen in her wheelchair. When Edward saw Charlotte, he smiled, and nodded at the two.

"Ah, Charlotte," the Queen said with a wide, beaming grin. "We see you've found a companion."

"Your majesty," George and Charlotte both said at once, with a curtsey and bow.

"Lord George Saxe-Jena, madam."

"A pleasure. And where are you two off to, We wonder?"

Charlotte's smile widened. "Lord George has a matter to discuss, in private. I hope there's no trouble with it, madam?"

Edward laughed, and the Queen glanced at him with a thin frown. She turned back to the couple, with a renewed smile.

"Of course not, dear. The 1780 Parlor is a most intimate and comfortable setting. Highly recommended for discussions of a private nature."

Charlotte nodded. "My very thought."

The Queen's smile widened. "Splendid! Well, you two have a good time."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Charlotte said.

George bowed again. "Your Majesty."

Charlotte again took George's arm, and led him out the ballroom.

"Well," he said quietly. "This may be easier than I anticipated."

Charlotte glanced at him, but said nothing.

As they walked, an old man in a less-than-formal, rumpled dark blue suit happened to pass by. He stopped, and looked at Charlotte with surprise. Then a knowing grin crossed his face, before he continued.

George looked at Charlotte curiously. "Who was that man?"

"That," Charlotte said with faint exasperation, "was the Royal Physician, Herr Doktor Gerhardt Kreutz."

George frowned. "I see. Whyever did he look at you as he did?"

"Who can tell," Charlotte muttered.

They arrived at the 1780 Parlor shortly after. A small round table was surrounded by high-backed, cushioned chairs.

"Brandy?" Charlotte asked.

George nodded with a thin smile. "Please."

She nodded, and opened a liquor cabinet. He sat and watched as she poured even amounts into two glasses, then placed them on the table. She placed the bottle in the middle.

He took his glass, and raised it toward her. "Cheers."

Charlotte tapped her glass to his. "Cheers."

She sipped her drink, continuing to watch him closely.

"I am instructed by my father to find a suitable mate."

Charlotte remained silent. He glanced at her with a shrug.

"He's normally quite permissive, but on this matter ... well, I've done extensive research on the many young and eligible women of Europe."

"Is that so?"

"And of them, Princess Charlotte, you are the most interesting."

"Am I?"

He nodded. "You're outspoken. Undeniably sympathetic to progressive causes. You've never had a boyfriend, and in fact spend all of your time in the company of the young woman friends you've made from Queen's Mayfair Academy."

"I suppose that is accurate."

"May I be frank?"

"I'd prefer it if you were."

"I've no interest in marrying. Neither you, nor anyone else. Well ... that is not entirely true, but true enough. Now don't mistake me: I am passionate about my country. I intend to work very hard for Saxe-Jena, and Saxony, and the German States. At least as hard as my father has, if not harder. Truthfully, I think you feel the same."

Charlotte took a long sip of her drink. "Is that so?"

"You want to be queen. You want to reunify your nation. You want to make things better."

"That is true."

He nodded, set his glass down, and leaned forward. "If we become engaged, Charlotte, then we can focus on the important matters of state. I mean, we'll need to 'date' publicly to make it seem genuine, but we can dispense with the irrelevant nonsense of trying to find someone to marry."

Charlotte considered this. "You love someone else."

"Yes."

"Someone you cannot marry. It cannot merely be that they are a commoner, as such marriages are accepted these days."

George picked up his glass, and drained his brandy. "Did I mention you were reported to be clever? Dangerously so."

"Saxe-Jena doesn't have religion laws. You could marry a Catholic or a Jew, or even a Hindu, and while there might be some grumbling, it wouldn't endanger your inheritance."

George poured more brandy into both glasses, shaking his head.

"So who is he? Is he another nobleman? Does your father know him? At that, does he know of your relationship with the man?"

George leaned back in his seat with a laugh. "Am I that transparent?"

"Yes, honestly."

He leaned forward again. "I'll break all etiquette by answering your question with a question: Is Miss Ange Lucare your lover?"

Charlotte maintained an even expression. "Touché."

He nodded. "Needless to say, I don't want to drag him into this if I don't have to."

"You shall, though. I cannot and will not engage in a charade of this nature without knowing him, assuring him of my feelings in the matter, and be assured of his. Besides, if we begin this and cannot end it, we may have to follow through."

George sighed. "Yes, I'd considered that as well. If we marry, and it is a big _if_ , then it would be meaningless. A marriage in name only, so that we can focus on what really matters without having to fend off suitors and relatives and others that are allergic to the thought of a man without a woman, and vice versa."

"Hm. I suppose I must admit that your candor is refreshing."

"I'm normally far more politic than this. The entire subject leaves me nauseous."

"Yes."

He took a deep breath. "Well, I've no desire to pursue this matter without all parties being fully aware. I'll give you time to talk to Miss Lucare. However, do not delay your answer. If I don't at least suggest to father that we're dating, I may have to find a woman that, shudder, actually _wants_ to marry me."

"You will know soon. I either need to accept this offer, or find another one myself. I have until I graduate before ... well, before the choice is taken from me."

He nodded. "Alright then."

Charlotte stood, and he stood up just afterward. She reached her hand out to him, and he took it, firmly. Charlotte's brow raised. "A handshake?"

"I'd assume it to be more appropriate under the circumstances."

"I see."

He released her hand, and fished a business card out of a pocket. "I've taken the liberty of setting up an office in London. Write or telephone there, and the message will be relayed to me. My agents are reliable and discreet, so you may speak your mind."

"I shall."

"It's been a pleasure, Charlotte."

She nodded. "A true pleasure," she replied.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Dorothy and Ange entered the clubroom. Charlotte sat at the table. Chris, standing to one side, was pouring out three cups of tea. She set one in front of Charlotte, and smiled at the other two.

"Welcome," Charlotte said with a smile. "Please, take a seat."

"Well, this is kinda irregular," Dorothy said with a thin smile. "Not sure if I should be proud or upset."

"What, that I am calling a meeting, Dorothy?"

"That, and that Control told me to do what you say. Kinda jarring to be told you aren't team leader any more."

Dorothy sat down. Her expression was gentler than her words. Chris placed a teacup before her, and Dorothy nodded her thanks.

Ange sat down as well. "Dorothy, you have not been supplanted as team leader. I assume, however, that the Princess has a task for us."

"Yes, thank you Ange. Well, first things first. Chris, you have a report?"

The blonde nodded, and handed Charlotte a sheet of paper. "Yes. As you can see, other than myself and Miss Gaveston, there are seven bodyguards at Queen's Mayfair Academy who have as their mission protecting and spying upon you."

Charlotte nodded, scanning through the document as Chris spoke.

"I have arranged the information in columns, so you can see who is supposedly loyal to the Kingdom and the Commonwealth, and where their true allegiance lies, so far as I can tell."

Dorothy and Ange exchanged a glance.

"Three are explicitly and openly reporting to the Kingdom."

"You are the fourth, yes?"

"Yes. Of the other three, two are, so far as I can tell, truly loyal to the Kingdom. "The other is of uncertain loyalty, though I suspect that he is an agent of the Irish Republican Brotherhood."

"I see. Have you spoken to Brianna about this?"

"Yes ma'am. She doesn't trust me."

"Whyever not?"

"Well," Chris shrugged, her cheeks dusting pink, "it happens that I was responsible for foiling one of her earlier missions. To be frank, the man I was guarding was a bastard, and I should have let her team kidnap him, but ...."

Charlotte nodded. "Of course. So, she still thinks of you as an enemy?"

"She knows I'm loyal to you, and out of respect to you she has, in her words, refrained from slitting my throat as I sleep."

"Most generous of her," Charlotte smirked.

"Yes ma'am."

"Keep working on that. What of the other four?"

"Two are loyal Commonwealth agents. I know them well, and I suspect Ange and Dorothy do as well."

Charlotte glanced at them. Ange remained impassive, and Dorothy shrugged.

"Continue, Chris."

"Of the other two, one is a holdover from Zelda's time. She has renounced her allegiance to the Circus .…"

"To save her own skin," Dorothy muttered.

"Yes," Chris agreed. "However, Control isn't confident in her loyalty."

"Eliminate her," Charlotte said simply.

Dorothy blinked in surprise.

"Can't, I'm afraid. Control has explicitly given me orders not to."

Charlotte sighed. "So we must consider her an enemy."

"Yes."

"The other?"

"A double agent. I know it, the other agents of Control know it, but he is cagey."

"Can you eliminate him?"

"Yes ma'am, it will be done as soon as we can manage it."

"I see. And the operation?"

"Will proceed as soon as possible."

"Well, that'll liquidate two: our double agent, and the one that supports the Kingdom openly. The operation will then take care of ... well, the other issue?"

Chris took a very deep breath, and nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"Good. Thank you Chris, that will be all."

Chris bowed to her,

"Yes ma'am. Ange, Dorothy."

They nodded to her, and watched her leave.

Dorothy stared at the door for a moment. "Huh," she said, turning back to Charlotte with a look of blended surprise and admiration.

"Now that's finished, we need to talk."

"First, one question. Why'd you send Chris away? And for that matter, why aren't Chise and Beato here?"

Charlotte sighed. "Chris has her own assignment. Between guarding my person and tying up the last loose ends here, she is far too busy to assist with this next issue."

"And the others?"

"Sadly, L was not entirely wrong about Chise."

Dorothy frowned. "Seriously?"

"She is a friend, and an ally. However, her loyalty is to her own nation. Besides, her sense of honor, while certainly compromised from being around our poor influence, makes me question how suitable she is for this assignment."

"And Beatrice?"

"I don't want to stain her hands with this."

Dorothy blinked. "Oh." She nodded. "Okay then, let's hear it."

"We cannot wait any longer. My grandmother isn't getting younger. We must act before she passes."

"So ... what're you suggesting?" Dorothy asked.

"I must be made higher in the line of succession. My uncle Edward is not an immediate threat ...."

"Wait," Dorothy said, "He's the crown prince. How is he not _the_ immediate threat?"

"He has no wife, and no legitimate heir. If he inherits the crown, I will have my place, third in line to succeed in that case. My cousin David, on the other hand, has a wife. Any children they have would displace me, even before he becomes king."

"I see," Dorothy said with a frown. She was silent for a moment. "Well, I dunno about David, but I do have inside sources that suggest that Prince Arthur will be ... easy to take care of."

Charlotte tilted her head.

"How so?"

Dorothy grinned widely, with more than a touch of mischief. "He's rather fond of sowing wild oats, if you take my meaning."

Charlotte blinked in surprise. "Oh."

"It only lacks some hard evidence. And I am pretty sure I can come up with that."

Ange glanced at her. "Do you intend to bear his bastard child?"

Dorothy glowered at Ange, and Charlotte shook her head.

"Ange, please. Dorothy, I will leave my dear cousin in your capable hands."

Dorothy nodded. "Consider it done."

"Now, as to Prince David. Ange, you are ... proficient at making inconvenient persons vanish."

Ange allowed herself to smile.

"Such a polite way to say it."

"Well, to be honest, I'd rather not order you to murder a member of my own family."

"Yeah, that'd be sordid," Dorothy quipped.

Charlotte frowned. "If you can dredge up a scandal, or threaten him in some way to force him to renounce his position in order of succession, to remove himself and any theoretical children he may have, I would prefer that. However, his wife is off limits."

Ange frowned. "Are you certain, Princess? I can think of no better way than to threaten .…"

"No," Charlotte said firmly. "No, his wife is not to be harmed."

And then Charlotte's shoulders slumped, and she sighed. "Not to be harmed, if you can help it."

Ange nodded. "I shall do what I can. I promise only to see you on the throne."

Charlotte nodded.

"How about Edward, then?" Dorothy asked.

"I will investigate him as well," Ange said. "If he can be threatened or removed I will do so."

"Yes, but it's better to let him take the throne than to get captured or show your hand. Either option makes our task more difficult, but I will accept him becoming king before the other."

Ange nodded. "Alright."

Charlotte took a very deep breath.

"Any other questions?"

"No, Princess." Dorothy said.

"No," Ange agreed.

"Thank you."

Ange and Dorothy stood.

"Oh, Ange. Can you stay for one more moment?"

Ange and Dorothy shared a look.

"Alright."

"Partner, come down to the garage when you're done here. The Tourer is being a pain and I need a third pair of hands."

"Third?"

"Beato's been looking at it, but I kinda think we'll need more help."

"Okay," Ange nodded.

Dorothy glanced at Princess for a moment, then turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Ange sat back down, and placed her hand on Charlotte's. Charlotte entwined their fingers together.

"Charlotte," the Princess whispered softly, "what I have to say is, if anything, even more difficult than the other."

"What do you mean, Princess?"

Charlotte took a deep breath. "I fear that I may need to become engaged."

Ange winced as though physically struck. She shook her head slowly.

"Charlotte," Princess continued, "I realize the very thought repels you."

"Yes."

"My uncle Normandy intends to see me engaged to the Crown Prince of Russia, and married and shipped off as quick as possible. The Queen has indicated that she does not want that, but I fear that Normandy will force her hand. She thinks that will happen as well. She has told me, in no uncertain terms, that I am to be engaged, at least, before graduation."

"Th ... that is unacceptable, Charlotte," Ange stammered.

" _Charlotte_ ," Princess said firmly, "if my uncle forces the issue, I will have no option. I will be wed to the Crown Prince, and forcibly relocated to St Petersburg."

"No," Ange repeated in a quiet, vulnerable voice.

"However, if I select my own fiancé, and we make it a very public engagement, and make it very obvious that we intend to wed, then Normandy cannot act. Not without provoking an incident that will make him look very bad in the Press. Or at least make Russia look bad, which will be equally unacceptable."

Ange, blinking back tears, shook her head again. "Is ... is there no other option?"

"Dearest, sweetest Charlotte," Princess whispered, "I am not planning on marrying. At least ... not a man."

Ange blinked. "Ch ... Charlotte?"

"The engagement is no more than a very public lie. An act. A message to everyone, my own family as well as the rest of Europe, that I am not available. By choosing my own fiancé, I make clear that I am no trophy. I'm not a prize to be coveted or exchanged for a favorable naval treaty. Then, when sufficient time has passed, the gentleman announces, with great sorrow, that the wedding is off due to unspecified, irreconcilable differences, and thank God we did not rush into a marriage prematurely. And then if fortune favors _us_ ...."

Ange blinked, her cheeks turning red. A thin smile crossed her lips.

"I ... I would like that. But ... to fake an engagement is ... who can you find who would fill such a role?"

Charlotte smiled. "I have already. He is in much the same position as myself. The idea of marriage repulses him. Well, marriage to anyone but the one he loves."

"I see. You have found a nobleman in love with another man, then."

"Indeed. He is quite wealthy, and his father is quite permissive. Other than insisting that he marry. He has told me already that I would be free to love you, even should it happen that we do become wed. Even in such a case, it would be a marriage in name only, for political convenience."

"But in such a case ... you would still be expected to produce an heir."

Charlotte winced this time. "Yes, Ange. Hence, the ideal outcome is that he would break off the engagement well before that time."

"You've put a lot of thought into this. Is it already decided, Charlotte?"

"No, Ange. We agreed that I would have to discuss the matter with you. If you are agreeable, then the four of us will meet to work out any remaining details."

"I see." Ange frowned, and tapped her chin. Then, she sighed. "I suppose there's no better option right now."

"Sadly, no."

Ange took a deep breath, and nodded. "Arrange a meeting, then."

"I shall. There is one more thing."

"There is more?"

"Yes, a happier bit of news."

"What is it?"

"The King of Hanover desires to name me his heir."

Ange frowned. "How? Hanover doesn't permit women to inherit the throne."

"He says Hanover is willing to change the law, if I accept."

"What's the catch?"

Charlotte sighed. "There is none, that I can see. Though it seems too good and too simple. There is likely something."

Ange considered this for a moment. "It doesn't jeopardize your position?"

"No. Before my grandmother inherited the throne, the Kings of Albion were also Kings of Hanover."

"Does this _secure_ your position? If you say yes to him, can you skip faking an engagement?"

"No, not entirely. It strengthens my position, but not nearly enough."

"Something is wrong there. There is a catch, or a hidden clause."

"I've been given a copy of the legislation and all paperwork that I must sign to make it official. I have hired a legal team expert in succession law to go over it. If there are loopholes, whether favorable or unfavorable, they will find them."

"I can research it as well."

"No Ange. You've quite enough with Edward and David, not to mention George. Oh, right. That is the name of the ... the gentleman."

***

When the royal limousine pulled up to the east gate of the Royal Palace, the Queen was there to greet them. A soldier opened the rear driver side door, and saluted to Charlotte as she got out, and the Queen smiled happily.

"Charlotte, it is good to see you!"

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said with a curtsey.

"We are gratified that you've come of your own free will, for the entire week-end."

"I suppose I got used to the luxuriant cooking over the summer, madam."

The Queen laughed, and motioned for her to approach. Charlotte walked over to her.

"If you'd be so kind as to push Us indoors. We should like a word with you before you retire to your room to prepare for supper."

"Alright."

She glanced at Chris, who was already at the boot of the limo, pulling out her usual duffel bag, and Charlotte's two pieces of luggage. Chris gave her a thin smile, and Charlotte walked to the Queen.

A soldier held the door for them, saluting as they passed. Charlotte nodded at him with a smile.

"In here, dear," the Queen indicated a reception lounge. Maribel stood within holding tea service. She tried to avoid grinning at Charlotte.

"Please sit, Charlotte. And no more formal talk."

"Alright, grandmother."

Maribel poured tea for the both of them.

"Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?"

"No, thank you Magdeline."

Maribel winced, but the Queen wasn't watching. Charlotte gave her an apologetic shrug.

"Very good madam," Maribel managed to say gracefully.

When she left the room, the Queen sighed, and looked at her.

"Charlotte, you're aware that rumors are beginning to circulate about you and Lord George of Saxony."

"Rumors, grandmother?"

"Please, don't be coy with me. Are you or are you not intending to propose to the boy?"

Charlotte shifted awkwardly in her seat, her cheeks turning red.

"It's ... under consideration, grandmother."

"I see. I suppose if he proposes to you, you will accept?"

"Again ... it's something I am considering."

"You're said to be dating, in some circles."

"Not publicly, grandmother."

She sighed. "I suppose I'll get no more out of you on that matter."

"Not at present. All due respect ... I'm simply not prepared to commit."

The Queen nodded. "Understandable, I suppose. I understand also that you're to be named the Crown Princess of Hanover?"

"Well ... again, I'm considering it."

"You've employed legal experts in succession law, both of Albion and the German States, so I'd say it's more than mere consideration. And don't look surprised. You cannot have expected such an action to escape my notice."

"I realize that I'd have to get your approval .…"

"You have it, no fears. I admit to being jealous of you, however."

"Jealous?"

She sighed. "I should have been Queen of Hanover as well as Albion. Foolish bigotry prevented it."

"We live in a more enlightened time, I suppose."

The Queen nodded. "I suppose so. Your uncle Edward and cousins do not know of this matter, as they don't need to. I'd advise holding it tight to your chest for the moment. Once it's announced there's little they can do, but beforehand ... don't underestimate how vicious they can be, just because they're your relatives."

"I'll bear that in mind, grandmother."

The queen nodded. "In any case, I've little else to say. The entire family, such as is left of it, will be together at supper tonight. Isn't that delightful?"  
Charlotte couldn't decide if she was being serious, so she just smiled.

***

When Charlotte reached her room, she found that Chris was already unpacking her bags.

"Thank you Chris."

She shrugged. "Not much use as a bodyguard here, so I figure I have to earn my pay somehow."

Charlotte smiled. "You do, trust me."

There was a knock at the door, which Charlotte had left open. She turned and saw the Crown Prince. As usual, his beard was neatly trimmed, his naval uniform crisp and flawless.

"Charlotte. Good to see you here again."

"Edward," she smiled. "Always a pleasure."

"Hm. I rather thought your last visit here was less than pleasurable."

"Well, I didn't care much for the feeling of being put on display."

Edward laughed. "That, my dear, is a feeling you'll have to get used to. What else is a royal family for but dressing in last century's finest and parading out in front of the public?"

Charlotte's smile widened. "I'd think you didn't care for it."

"That, my dear, I leave to your wayward cousin Arthur. I adore my position."

"Do you?"

"In any case, I'd like a word with you, in private."

Chris smiled. "I can leave, Your Highness."

"No, it'd be grossly inappropriate for me to be alone with a woman in her private chambers, even that of my own niece. We must observe proper decorum and go to a lounge or parlor to be alone in instead," Edward remarked dryly, a thin grin crossing his lips.

"If it's alright, Chris?"

She blinked. "I serve at your pleasure, ma'am."

"Alright. Edward?"

She lightly took his arm, and he led them through the halls of the Royal Palace to one of its many small parlors. He didn't offer her a drink, and she didn't ask for one.

"How can I help you, uncle?"

Edward smiled. "I've a question or two for you, Charlotte. First, perhaps most important, Lord George's taken a fancy to you I gather. Do you feel the same?"

Charlotte shifted in her seat. "Well, I must admit that's a matter that I am still working out with myself."

Edward chuckled. "Understandable. Still, it's good to see you with a young man. Between us, there were rumors circulating in a few circles that you were, if you will pardon the vulgarity of the word, _lesbian_."

"Is that so?"

Edward nodded. "Preposterous of course. I've no doubt jealous clucking hens started such a rumor when you refused every suitor over the summer, but that's beside the point entirely."

"Most likely."

Edward nodded. "And Alexander?"

"Well, I know he's a dear friend of yours."

"Hm. Yes, though I am not certain he's a good match for you."

"My other uncle seems to think otherwise."

"Normandy? Vile, officious bastard. You know, he was appointed Home Secretary to keep him from scheming against the current Prime Minister."

"Is that so?" Charlotte asked slowly.

Edward shrugged. "Didn't hear that from me of course."

"No, of course not. You've never been a gossip, uncle. So what do you think of Lord George?"

"I've not really met the man. Seems of good character. Saxon duke, always a good start. He is your ... let me think here: Second or third cousin I believe. The Saxon side of the family is a rather tangled mess."

Charlotte laughed. "Moreso than the Russian or the Spanish or the Dutch?"

Edward shook his head. "You've a point of course. My dear mother was quite prolific in providing the royal families of Europe with seed-stock."

"Edward, you make it sound sordid somehow."

"Well, again this doesn't leave this room. There is a reason my fiancée is not a royal. I realize it flaunts the fine tradition of inbreeding, but I'd rather avoid it."

Charlotte nodded slowly. "I see. And my cousin David's wife is a common girl."

Edward frowned. "Rather too common if you ask me. There are rumors, shall we say, that her background is positively decadent."

"Edward, I'm surprised to hear you say that."

"Well, she's not Catholic at least, and her father's been elevated to the peerage. Beyond that, rumors swirl. She's actually the illegitimate daughter of a Danish landscape painter and a Jewess, according to my most favorite."

Charlotte frowned. "That is quite disgraceful. Not her alleged parentage so much as you describing it in the way you do."

Edward sighed. "Yes, I forget sometimes how seriously you take social justice. Apologies. Still, it isn't the truth about her that matters so much as the image. Now, David is quite beloved. The people adore him, so they tolerate her. Some, I believe, grumble about dour old Edward becoming king before young and pretty David. I've no ill will of course. His father, my brother, was a good man. In his absence, David will make a splendid king one day."

"Will?"

Edward frowned heavily. "I am too old to become a long-lived king, my dear. Some days I wonder if I'll ever wear the crown at all."

***

Supper was a restrained affair. For the Royal Family of the Kingdom of Albion that is. The Queen sat at the head of the table, with Normandy to her left and Edward to her right. David, his young wife Rebecca, and Charlotte sat beside Edward, while Arthur and her aunt Mary sat beside Normandy. Other, lesser members of the family sat further down the table from the Queen. The conversation was light and meaningless. The Queen's smile never quite reached her eyes.

***

Early the next day, a rare day with no formal engagements for any member of the Royal Family, Charlotte rose and had a light breakfast with Chris. As they were just finishing, a young woman with dark brown hair entered the dining room.

"Charlotte," she said with a smile.

"Rebecca, it's good to see you again."

The women embraced lightly. Chris stood off to one side, smiling.

"I'd hoped to have a chance to speak with you in private, Charlotte," Rebecca said with a glance at Chris.

"This is Chris. My bodyguard."

"I see. It's a pleasure, Chris."

Chris bowed, accepting her hand and leaning down to place her lips just above Rebecca's knuckles. "My pleasure entirely."

Rebecca smiled. "Well. I hope you don't mind, sir, if I steal your charge from you?"

Chris smiled, and shook her head. "Not at all."

Charlotte looked at Chris just a moment longer, but decided to say nothing.

"With your leave, Princess?"

"Of course, Chris."

Chris bowed again, and left the room.

"What a handsome young man," Rebecca whispered.

"You don't know the half of it," Charlotte muttered.

Rebecca grinned. "This leads nicely in to what I intended to ask you."

"Hm. Well first, have you eaten?"

"I took a light breakfast of yoghurt and Muesli so you needn't worry about me."

"Alright. Shall we find a quieter place to talk, then?"

As they walked, Charlotte looked closely at Rebecca. She was only a few years older than Charlotte, and in turn a year younger than David. She wore a trim and smart white dress-suit. She exuded elegance, and Charlotte found it hard to believe that anyone could dislike her.

They entered one of the palace's many parlors.

"So, how's life at Queen's Mayfair Academy?"

Charlotte smiled. "It's nice. I enjoy the freedom as well as the chance to learn and explore. There's so much more out there in the world."

Rebecca laughed. "Oh, I understand. I was surprised to learn that when I became a princess, I'd have rules to follow! I was certain, becoming the wife of a prince and future king that I would be the one making rules."

Charlotte nodded. "It is quite a shock, is it not?"

Rebecca shrugged. "Well, my father was quite strict so I'm no stranger to it. I did expect to have a little more freedom and luxury. I felt like I was back in school for the first year of my marriage."

"I'd expect so. Arbitrary or not, the family has certain very high standards that must be met."

"Still, I cannot stress enough how happy I am to be married."

Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "That is ... good."

"And when are you and Lord George announcing your engagement?"

Charlotte's cheeks reddened. "I had hoped you would be the first member of the family not to ask that."

Rebecca laughed. "Surely you'd realize I'd ask! He's a premium catch. Rich. Young. Handsome. He's your Albert, Charlotte. Don't let him get away from you."

"My Albert? Hm. I wonder."

"The parallels are there: Saxon duke, liberal leanings, not likely to whisk you away to Germany and lock you up there. He would make a good Prince Consort."

Charlotte frowned. "You don't expect me to become queen, surely."

"Well, no. David's a young man, and we're certain to have many strong children."

"Certain to?"

She shrugged, and shifted in her seat. "I'll not say more than that. There are some things I'd rather keep to myself."

"Apologies."

Rebecca nodded. "So after having said that, can you tell me, Lotte? Are you and George planning on being wed?"

"We've discussed it. There are other details to work out."

"Of course, of course. May I be blunt?"

Charlotte looked at her dubiously. "If you must."

"Don't refuse him, Lotte. How you feel doesn't really matter. Not really. My mother hated my father when they first got married. Hated him. Within a year of becoming man and wife, she was hopelessly infatuated."

"You married David for love."

She smirked "I married him for his money."

Charlotte laughed. "Did you?"

Rebecca shrugged. "I jest. No, if he were a poor man I'd still love him. He is the most brilliant, radiant soul I've ever met."

"I cannot honestly say I see George in that light."

"Don't need to. It'll come."

"What if I marry him and fall in love with another?"

"Have an affair," Rebecca said flippantly. "It's a grand tradition amongst royalty, as I understand it."

Before Charlotte could respond, there was a knock at the door. Charlotte and Rebecca shared a look.

"Come in?" Charlotte said.

The door opened, and a young man in a sharp black suit entered. He had light brown hair with reddish highlights, and the beginnings of a beard.

"David!" Rebecca stood, embracing and kissing him.

"I'd heard you were abducted by my cousin."

"I was more the abductee in this instance, David."

"May I?"

"Please," Charlotte answered.

David closed the door, and he and Rebecca sat down very close together, hands clasped tightly.

"So, what were you two discussing, I wonder?"

"Marriage. Love. Handsome, charming young men with all the world at their feet."

David frowned. "I see. Should I be jealous?"

Rebecca laughed, and kissed his cheek. "We were discussing you, of course."

"Hm. Handsome? Charming? Charlotte, does that sound like me?"

Charlotte smirked. "Well, you are young in any case."

David laughed, and Rebecca shook her head.

"We were also discussing Charlotte's prospects," Rebecca stated.

"Oh, is that so? Cambridge or Oxford?"

Charlotte shifted, and looked down at her hands.

"Cambridge, surely! You can't expect your own cousin to attend university in the Commonwealth?"

David shrugged. "When it comes to a good education .…"

"Neither, I am afraid."

David turned to her, with a wide-eyed look. "Oh. I ... I mean ...."

"I have been informed by the Queen and uncle Normandy that higher education is seen as neither necessary nor desirable for a woman in my situation."

"Oh Charlotte. I'm sorry. I intended to joke. I hadn't any idea .…"

"I know," Charlotte said, with a nod. "As it happens, I've received a letter of acceptance from Oxford, as a full student, and acceptance from each of the women's colleges of Cambridge as well."

Rebecca and David shared a glance, and David sighed.

"Do you intend to defy the Queen?"

Charlotte laughed. "I'd likely be branded a traitor. As you said Rebecca, a Royal studying in the Commonwealth sends a poor message to the world, does it not?"

"I am sorry, Charlotte."

"Don't be, David. You couldn't have known."

"Well. It is just a piece of parchment after all. You're far cleverer than many deans of either institution, and better read than most."

"Thank you for saying so."

"And, given a few more years, you'll be old enough to start taking on official responsibilities, which will teach you far more than university ever could."

Charlotte smirked. "Official ... as opposed to the many unofficial responsibilities I am saddled with now?"

"There is a difference between cutting the ribbon to open a Royal Botanical Garden and being a Counsellor of State."

"Of course."

David glanced at Rebecca uncertainly. "I take it you've also discussed Lord George, then?"

"Yes," Rebecca nodded, "and I've been telling Charlotte that she should not hesitate to reel in that particular fish."

Charlotte laughed. "What a way to express it."

"Well," David said with a smirk, "it happens to be true in this case. He's a good man. He'll be honest and loyal to you, Charlotte. He forms very close friendships. Intimate friendships, I'd dare say. With him, you'd have unprecedented freedoms."

"It sounds as though you know the man," Charlotte said.

David nodded. "Better than you'd realize. He and I became quite intimate some, oh, five years ago? When I was touring Saxony."

"You never told me that," Rebecca said in surprise.

David smiled. "There's nothing to tell. We spent a summer bonding as men do, then made many fine promises of keeping up our friendship. We've corresponded of course, but he moved on. And I married you."

Rebecca frowned. "You make it sound as though he was your first love."

David laughed. "My darling, you are my first and only love!"

Charlotte regarded David very closely for several minutes. "Well. With a recommendation like that, dearest cousin David, I do not see how I can go wrong."

***

Charlotte entered her room, and sat down at her dressing table. Chris closed the door behind her.

"So, how'd it go?"

Charlotte slipped her fingers through her hair. She sighed, and tugged the wig off of her head, setting it on a nearby stand. She then ran her hand through her short, asymmetrical ash-blonde hair.

"Quite well, as it happens. Still, I have gained a new appreciation for Charlotte's strength and willpower. I felt the urge numerous times to slap the members of my less-than-illustrious family."

Chris laughed. "Charlotte's mentioned the same thing, on more than one occasion."

Ange allowed a thin smile to cross her lips.

***

Charlotte and Ange sat side by side in the Natural History clubroom. Chise sat on Charlotte's other side, and beside her sat Dorothy. Across the table, sat three girls that none of them had ever seen before.

The first girl had very dark skin and shoulder-length hair. She had smiled and said a friendly hello when the others entered the room, and even now sat smiling as she looked at the other girls sitting around the table.

Beside her was a pale-skinned girl with dark hair. She had said nothing, and had maintained a strict, neutral expression. However, her eyes had locked on to Chise, and the Japanese girl returned her gaze seriously.

The third girl had red hair cut in a style that could only be called boyish. She was tall and fit, her skin tanned. She had given the others a thin smile without warmth, and was now looking between Charlotte and Dorothy meditatively. Ange watched her closely, but none of them said anything.

After a moment, the door to the clubroom opened. Lily, with pink cheeks, walked in the door, followed shortly by Beatrice.

"Sorry I'm late everyone! Lily and I had something we had to take care of last minute."

"I bet," Dorothy muttered.

Beatrice either didn't hear or chose to ignore Dorothy's comment. She pulled out a chair for Lily, whose cheeks brightened, then she nodded with a big smile.

"Welcome, everyone! Principal Team, I'd like you to meet my new Junior team. Juniors, if you'd please introduce yourself so we all know who you are."

The black girl stood up with a smile, and Beatrice took her seat between Dorothy and Lily.

"Heya. Name's Tanya. Bea and I met at the Farm. I told her I'd be a spy with her. Didn't I tell you that?"

Beatrice shrugged, her cheeks pink. "Kinda."

Tanya nodded. "I graduated top of my class. Trained with the C-ball. I specialize in cryptography and forgery. Need a fake passport? A few hundred spare pounds? Got a message that doesn't make any sense? Wanna take a quick trip over to London to see the sights from the top of Big Ben? Come see me and I can make it happen for ya."

"Where are you from, Tanya?" Ange asked.

"London!" Beatrice hastily said, with wide eyes.

Ange, Dorothy, and Charlotte all looked at her with surprise.

"Um," Beatrice said sheepishly. "She's from London."

Tanya grinned. "Yeah. London born and bred. I kinda snapped someone's head off at the Farm when they thought I couldn't possibly be from Albion."

Ange nodded. "I see. Well, welcome to Queen's Mayfair Academy."

"Thanks."

"I suppose I should speak next, then. I am Ange le Carré. Officially, I am from Incognia. You may have seen me wearing spectacles and appearing to jump in fright at the slightest provocation. That is an act."

Tanya nodded. "I knew that. Couple of the instructors at the Farm remembered you. Honestly, I'm honored to meet you."

"Oh. I see. Well, then you will not be surprised when I reveal my true identity."

Beatrice shifted awkwardly, and Charlotte and Dorothy shared an uncertain glance.

"I am in fact an extra-terrestrial from the Black Lizard Planet. I am here to study the ways of your kind. In the process of doing so, I have become enthralled by the most beautiful member of your species, and am now in her service."

Charlotte blushed, and Dorothy's eyes widened.

Tanya laughed. "Oh Bea ... and here I thought you were exaggerating about her."

Ange's cheeks reddened slightly.

"Not really," Beatrice said quietly, with a shrug.

"Well then, Miss Black Lizard," Tanya said in a very amused voice, "It'll be a great honor to work alongside you."

Ange nodded. "Likewise."

"Okay. Well then. Um. Who's next?" Beatrice asked.

The dark-haired girl stood. "I am Amanda. I am an assassin. I am Beatrice's living weapon. Any target she orders eliminated shall be dead within the fortnight." She remained standing for just a moment. Her eyes fixated on Chise. Chise returned Amanda's gaze, and held it unflinchingly. Then, with a slight nod, Amanda sat again.

Beatrice blushed, and Lily's eyes went wide. Dorothy's brows raised, and Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Well. It is a ... pleasure to meet you as well. I suppose I should speak next?"

Tanya grinned. "You need no introduction, Your Highness."

"Well, I am indeed Princess Charlotte."

"You intend to usurp the throne?" Amanda asked evenly.

" _Usurp_ is a bit of an overstatement," Charlotte said with a shrug.

"I see. Please remember, I am available. Should Beatrice attach me to your service, I can and will eliminate any target you name, however highly placed or well-defended."

"I ... see. Well, I shall certainly keep that in mind, Amanda. Thank you."

Ange glanced at Charlotte, who very subtly frowned and shook her head.

"I'm Tina Miller," the redhead said next without prelude. "I don't use a C-ball like Tanya or Ange, and I'm not a killer like Amanda. I'm also not a royal like Charlotte or a noble like Lily or Beatrice. I _did_ graduate top of my class at the Farm. I never once lost a target I was trailing, and my marks in surveillance are amongst the highest ever recorded in Commonwealth training. I'd like to think I know a thing or two about spying."

"I see," Charlotte said meditatively. "Tanya, did you not say you were top of your class as well?"

"Yup. Top of the class in the summer regular session. Bea's score didn't count on the same list, so I think we both got top of class, even though we were kinda in the same class."

"Something like that," Beatrice said evasively.

"I graduated last regular session. Didn't mess with the summer school stuff," Tina clarified.

"So, we have not one, not two, but three top graduates from the Farm here," Charlotte said, glancing at Ange with a smile.

"Four, if you count Bea," Tanya said.

"It seems that Control considers this to be a successful formula," Ange said.

"I take full credit," Dorothy smirked.

"And you are?" Tina asked.

"Dorothy MacBean. Leader of the Principal team. Beato's boss. Technically that means I'm your boss too, but that's almost never gonna come up. Control's gonna treat our groups as separate teams most of the time."

"Okay then," Beatrice said with a smile. "That just leaves one. Chise?"

The Japanese girl shot an icy glare in Beatrice's direction, making her blink in surprise.

"I am Chise Todo," she said, standing. "I am Samurai. My master, lord Horikawa, ambassador to Albion from the Empire of Japan, has attached me to the Principal team to assist in your endeavors. I look forward to working with, and when necessary teaching and training, you all." She bowed deeply, then sat down.

"Todo," Amanda mused. "Are you related to Jubei Todo?"

"He was my father."

Amanda nodded. "He was the greatest assassin of the 19th century. At an age when most would remain attached to their mothers teat, he fought in the Boshin war. Iit is said he killed a hundred men, and sank a Western ironclad, single-handed. His later rebellion against the Emperor is legendary."

Chise nodded tersly. "You are not incorrect."

Amanda allowed herself to smile. "Chise Todo, I consider you to be the greatest assassin of the 20th century. To date at least. You who killed Jubei Todo, and so many others."

"You praise me highly."

Amanda's smile widened. "I consider you to be my rival. Here and now, with these persons as witness, I vow to dethrone you, and claim the title of greatest assassin of the 20th century."

"Amanda," Beatrice said slowly, "you're both on the same side."

"Beatrice, I would never dream of harming, let alone killing, your friend and ally. Our rivalry will be of an indirect sort. I shall kill more, and in more spectacular fashion, to unseat Chise Todo from the throne of Mistress Assassin."

Chise's brows raised. "I see. There is no harm in it, I suppose."

"Chise," Charlotte said evenly, "I wouldn't really consider you to be an assassin."

"No, indeed not. I am Samurai, and therefore neither Ninja nor, properly speaking, an assassin."

"One can be both Samurai and Ninja, Chise-dono," Amanda said evenly.

"No self-respecting Samurai would admit such a thing. Ninja hail from the peasant classes."

" _Mostly_ from the peasant classes," Amanda replied. "A Ninja from the Samurai class, and trained with katana and jujitsu as well as the arts of the Ninja would be great and powerful. The strongest warrior. The greatest assassin. Would you not say so Chise-dono?"

"Perhaps," Chise conceded, with a thin smile.

A silence, awkward for everyone but Chise and Amanda, descended upon the room. It was broken only by Dorothy tapping her hand against the table.

"Well, guess that wraps things up here, yeah?"

"The Junior Team needs to stay, though," Beatrice said cheerily. "We have our first mission!"

Tanya beamed. "Can't wait!"

Dorothy laughed. "Ah, such innocence. Remember it, Ange?"

Ange looked at her evenly. "I do not believe either of us have ever experienced anything that could be called _innocence_."

Dorothy grinned. "You have a point. Well Principal Team, you're dismissed. Ange, L did give me a message specifically for you."

"Is that so?"

Dorothy nodded, handing her a sealed envelope.

"Sorry Princess, this one's for her eyes only. Not even I can see those orders."

"Curious," Charlotte murmured.

"Indeed," Ange nodded.

"I do need to speak with you, Ange."

"Yes, Princess. I shall join you in your room momentarily."

Dorothy frowned. "No sharing secrets though. L specifically said 'Ange's Eyes Only.' "

Ange nodded. "Of course. Only Ange's eyes shall ever see the contents of this envelope."

"Ange," Dorothy grumbled, but before she could say anything more, both Ange and Charlotte were out of their seats. Charlotte grinned and waved at Dorothy as the two darted out of the clubroom.

Lily started to stand, but Beatrice took her hand lightly.

"Stay, Lily. You're not exactly part of the Junior team, but ... well, I'd like you to stay."

Lily's cheeks reddened, and she glanced uncertainly at Beatrice.

"Oh. Um, okay."

She sat back down, and Beatrice smiled.

Chise frowned very heavily, glowering at both Lily and Beatrice as she walked out the door.

Dorothy rolled her eyes. "Well, I'll see you later, Sweet. Assuming Lily doesn't take all your time tonight, that is."

Beatrice's face turned bright red. "What ... what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Dorothy shook her head. "Nothing, Sweet," she said, standing and walking out of the clubroom. "Nothing at all."

***

Ange sat down at Charlotte's dressing table. She had read the orders in the sealed envelope as they walked. The envelope now sat in Ange's handbag.

"So? What are your orders, Charlotte?"

The Spy shook her head. "In this particular case, I am forced to agree with L. Only I may read the contents."

"But Charlotte," Princess pouted, placing her hands on the Spy's shoulders and leaning in close. "You said the contents were for _Ange's_ eyes, did you not?"

Ange sighed. "I cannot show you."

Charlotte frowned, and stood up. "Really? It's that serious?"

"It pertains to a loose end from last spring."

"Oh. Oh, I see. So ... there is some danger to me?"

"Potentially, yes."

"Can you tell me anything at all?"

"Technically, no. I will only say that I will be out of the country for a time."

"Oh. I do need to know a little more than that, actually. I've scheduled a meeting with George and his love for the first week of next month."

"Where?"

"Rome."

"I see. Then I shall meet you there."

"I hope there's no conflict in the timing. I can reschedule the meeting if there's need."

"There should not be. I shall be leaving for Tangier tomorrow, and should be finished in time to meet you in Rome."

"Tangier?" Charlotte's voice held a mixture of surprise and fear. "Why there?"

Ange's cheeks reddened, and she looked at her hands. "I have already said more than I should."

Charlotte sighed, and nodded. "Of course. I hope all goes well, Ange."

"As to the other issue."

"Oh. My dear cousin David?"

"I had one possible lead. I examined the evidence and found it ... unsuitable."

"Oh? Please explain, Ange."

"David, as it happens, became an ... _intimate_ associate of your gentleman friend, Lord George."

"Oh."

"If anything came of it, there's no evidence to be found. Nothing beyond the circumstantial. I suspect that bringing that to the forefront would do as much damage to Lord George as anyone."

"Yes, that would be ... it could be quite unpleasant."

"So in the end, the most I can say is that David married a Jewish woman, who was the daughter of a wealthy clothing merchant, life peer, and member of parliament. She converted to the Church of Albion before marrying David and does not keep kosher, though she still prays in Hebrew and considers herself to be Jewish in spirit. He is aware of her religious leanings, but most persons, even within the government, are not. There is frankly nothing to go on there. At most, I could feed this information to some very unpleasant and bigoted persons, along with a copy of her itinerary."

"Do not dare, Ange!"

"I would not, not even as a last resort. The irony is, were she Catholic I could simply expose the fact. He would then be ineligible to become king just for having a Catholic wife. I consider this to be the height of stupid bigotry, which serves no purpose whatsoever. That is somewhat beside the point, however."

Charlotte sighed. "What _can_ be done then?"

"David is the most charming and pleasant member of your family, aside from you yourself. Rebecca is a lovely young woman, one that under nicer circumstances I could see becoming a friend."

"Really? I'm surprised to hear you say that."

Ange shrugged. "At the end of the day, unless I can find the means to invent a convincing scandal, I see only one answer."

Charlotte closed her eyes. "Continue to research, then. Please, find another way."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has suggestions of F/M relationships. I am not tagging it F/M otherwise as they are not the focus of the story.   
> Most notably, the "relationship" between Princess Charlotte and Lord George is fake, false, and bogus.

Charlotte and Chris took the Orient Express to Milan, and switched there to a train heading South to Rome. They arrived late in the evening, checking into their hotel room and promptly retiring to their beds.

The next morning, they took an obligatory tour of the city before making their way to the address George had given for the meeting.

"Now remember Chris, you are intended to act as though I am pretending to have no interest in Lord George, and not entirely succeeding at it. If you are asked questions by the Press, kindly act in an evasive and gruff manner, to confirm their suspicions while denying what they are saying."

Chris laughed. "What a tangled web we weave?"

" 'Oh, what a tangled web we weave / When first we practice to deceive.' "

"The Bard always had a way with words," Chris mused.

Charlotte grinned. "If by 'The Bard' you refer to Sir Walter Scott, then I would agree with you."

Chris blinked. "Wait ... isn't that line from Hamlet?"

"No."

"Macbeth?"

"Wrong again."

"Huh."

"Well, it doesn't matter. The line is still quite true. We shall be weaving quite a tangled web Chris. I only pray that we are not entrapped within it. An engagement gives me freedom. A marriage restricts it again. A pregnancy .…"  
"God forbid," Chris muttered.

"Indeed. Still, if it gets me the throne .... "

Chris looked at her in true surprise. "Really? You'd go that far?"

Charlotte sighed. "I do not want to, Chris. I do not. And yet, if needs must ...."

Chris shuddered.

"I must be prepared to make many unpleasant sacrifices, Chris. The fate of the nation of Albion is of greater importance. If I can knock down the walls by such means, then I _must_ take them, however much I may hate it."

"You're far braver then I, Princess."

"So you don't want children, then?" Charlotte asked with a grin.

"Not like that."

"Hm. Well, it shouldn't come to it, in any case."

***

Chris found herself without anything to do. The address was a very nice hotel in Rome's fashionable, modern district, but her duty was to guard Charlotte. Charlotte, in turn, was having a private meeting, that she wanted everyone to notice but think she didn't want them to notice. So Chris ended up in the lobby reading newspapers and magazines. She understood Italian well enough to be slightly less than utterly bored at the wait.

Charlotte, meantime, made a great show of trying and failing to avoid being noticed. She took the stairs up to the floor where George was staying, arriving well in time for the meeting.

She glanced at her pocket watch. Fifteen minutes. The hallway was empty. She sighed.

She looked at the door to George's room. She frowned. There was one other room here. More accurately, these were very nice, deluxe suites. There were two in this section, and a door led to another wing, with two more. Nice rooms. Very nice rooms, in fact. She would be quite willing to stay the night, were she able to stay with Ange.

She glanced at her watch. Five minutes. She sighed again.

A man walked up the stairs, and Charlotte turned her back, moving to a window. She looked out, humming quietly. Maybe the man would go on to the other room? Or he would go up the stairs. She hoped, in any case, that he was gone before ....

"Charlotte." she jolted, and turned in surprise.

The 'man' smirked at her, and pulled a fedora off of his ... or rather her, head. It was Ange, wearing a dark grey suit.

"Ange! I ... you're early."

"Am I?" She glanced at her wristwatch and frowned. "I thought I was late."

"Well, it doesn't matter. You're here. And may I say, you look ... quite splendid."

Ange smiled. "I decided it made both an adequate disguise, as well as a fair statement to this gentleman friend of yours."

“Were you seen, Ange?”

“No, Charlotte. Were you?”

Charlotte nodded, with a thin grin. “By quite a few, in fact. Rumors are already spreading, and I don't mind a few more.”

Ange frowned. “I’m still not certain of this.”

“Hence, our meeting.”

Ange took a deep breath, and nodded. She took Charlotte’s hand, and they walked to the door. Charlotte rapped three times on the door, and it opened.

A man neither had met before answered the door. He was in his early 20s, with an unruly mop of light brown hair and a mustache. He wore a dark blue suit.

“She’s here, George,” he said after a moment.

“Let her in.”

The man stayed in place for a moment, glancing uncertainly at Ange, before stepping to one side. Ange and Charlotte entered, and George stood up, giving them a quick bow.

“Nice to see you Charlotte. This is Henry.”

"Pleasure," he said.

He closed the door, and walked over to George. They glanced at one another for a moment, then Henry turned to the others.

“This is?”

“Ange le Carré,” Charlotte said, deliberate in her pronunciation.

“An honor,” George said, bowing again to her.

Ange glanced at Charlotte, who frowned and nodded.

“It is a … pleasure, to meet the two of you.”

“Please, sit. Whisky?”

Charlotte smiled. “Yes, please.”

George nodded and sat, while Henry put four glasses on the table, filled each with three ice cubes, then poured out a measured amount of amber fluid into each glass.

George raised his glass. “To success in our affairs.”

Charlotte grinned widely and raised her glass. Ange, frowning, raised hers as well. Henry clinked his glass against George’s, then drank.

They sipped in silence for a moment, then George set his glass down with a nod.

“Alright, let’s talk. Ange, I assume you know what’s going on here?”

“Yes, you intend to be engaged to my Charlotte, which she has agreed to in order to avoid an unpleasant forced marriage with the Crown Prince of Russia. You will end the engagement at the soonest practical moment as you have no desire to marry anyone other than your darling, Henry.”

Henry chuckled, and George shrugged. “You have the gist of it, yes. It is a little more complicated.”

“Oh?”

Charlotte shifted nervously in her seat.

“I have informed my father that we have been dating since March,” George stated.

Ange blinked, and glanced at Charlotte. “I was under the impression no action would be taken before this meeting.”

“Well … the story is that we met in secret, whilst I was on holiday in Casablanca. Rumors to that effect started shortly after George and I met in August.”

Ange frowned, and glanced at George. "Casablanca? During _our_ holiday, Charlotte?"

“It’s news to me too,” Henry said with more than a little annoyance in his voice.

“Apologies, to the true loves,” George said, “but I had little choice. The alternative was to allow my father to set me with some Danish girl I’ve never met, and don’t ever care to. Charlotte agreed, reluctantly, to this course of action.”

“So,” Ange said, “you’ve been dating for seven months? And no one saw you together, nor suspected anything in that time?”

"How long have you been dating Charlotte?" Henry asked evenly.

Ange frowned. "As careful as we have been, I cannot honestly say we have not been seen."

George nodded. "True. Henry and I, however, have been together three years. Few people suspect anything."

"Ange, I do realize this is difficult for you. As it is for Henry. If you can see a better alternative?"

"I shall foment a revolution in Russia to have the Tzar overthrown. There would then be no one to demand your hand in marriage. It will be easier, and less troublesome."

Charlotte and George glanced at each other awkwardly. Henry laughed.

"Ange," Charlotte said in an even, careful voice, "I don't entirely think that would be advisable."

Ange shrugged. "That was a lie."

Charlotte fixed her with a solid gaze.

George shook his head. "If we can be serious?"

Ange nodded. "Yes. Yes, you are correct. This is a serious matter. It is the best solution, apparently."

"Now, there are other things we must discuss," Charlotte said. "George and I must pretend to date .…"

"Why? Is it not enough to fake an engagement?"

George leaned forward. "To give it credibility. For it to seem like a match of love, we need to seem loving, and intimate."

Ange and Henry both winced.

"I don't feel comfortable with this," Henry stated. "I trust you George, and I believe you to be sincere Charlotte. But the idea of you two spending 'intimate' time alone .…"

"I know," Charlotte said quietly. "It will be difficult for all of us."

"There's too much at stake to do otherwise," George said. "Especially for Princess Charlotte."  
Ange frowned, and glanced between George and Charlotte. "I do not like it. However ... as I have said before, I don't see any other solution."

"We will do as little as we need, spend as little time together as we can. School will help with that."

George nodded. "Yes. Charlotte is right."

"Alright," Henry shrugged. "What now?"

"Now," George said, "You two must leave, quietly. I am sorry, but you can't be seen here today."

Ange frowned, but nodded. "Come with me, Henry. I have an escape route."

He looked at her skeptically, but nodded. He stood, and they walked over to the door.

Ange opened the door, and gestured Henry through, and he chuckled in amusement. Before she stepped through, she turned. Her expression was very dark, and she pointed at George. "Remember, this is for a purpose. It is false and is not to lead to anything truly intimate. If I discover that there is something more going on between the two of you, I shall be ... _upset_."

"As will I," Henry stated.

Charlotte took a deep breath. "Trust us."

"I do trust _you_ , Charlotte," Ange said. She glared at George.

"Trust me as well, please."

"I appear to have little choice."

***

It was the evening of the first day back at school after the winter break. Ange was in the clubroom, reading an assignment for class. She heard the door to the clubroom open, and looked up. Beatrice entered, holding a newspaper. She frowned.

"Hello, Beato."

"Ange," she replied coldly.

Ange looked at her curiously. "Is there a problem? Are you and Dorothy getting on? You were supposed to spend Christmas Eve together."

"Yeah, we did. We went to ... never mind that. No, she and I are getting along fine. The problem is that I learned that you and Charlotte were being unfaithful to each other in Stockholm."

Ange frowned. "To what do you refer?"

Beatrice placed the newspaper in front of Ange. On the front page, under the headline "Princess Charlotte's New Beau," was an image of Charlotte and George, walking hand-in-hand.

"You realize this to be a deception?" Ange stated clearly.

"I'm not stupid, Ange. That's only part of it." She opened the newspaper to a second photo, showing Ange and Henry walking side by side. Ange was smiling widely, jarringly out of character from Beatrice's perspective, and Henry was laughing.

" 'Royal Couple's Best Friends Romantically Inclined?' " Beatrice asked bitterly, quoting the headline.

"A misapprehension by the Press," Ange said.

"I don't like this, Ange."

"I cannot say that I care for it either, Beato. However, it is what it is."

Beatrice sat down heavily, sighing. "And I apologize for saying you were being unfaithful, of all things for _me_ to say. I just ... it upsets me."

"It upsets me as well. We have no choice."

Beatrice shook her head. "This is just not right, though."

"Beato, the alternative is an arranged marriage and exile to Saint Petersburg. While I do not doubt that Charlotte would lead a life of luxury and even possibly come to appreciate being Tzarina, it is not anything any of us want."

"No, it isn't. Can't you do anything? You're a spy, Ange! Conspire. You have to do something!"

"Beato, this _is_ the conspiracy. Charlotte and George are not dating. They hold hands. They laugh. They dance. They made a great show, at the New Years Eve party you refer to, of introducing myself and Henry to one another. The Press eat this up. The phrase "Romance of the Century" has already been bandied about by some of the more sensationalist magazines. They are not dating. It is an act. It is not perfect, but it will do for the moment."

Beatrice frowned. "Lily's been given orders to try to disrupt the relationship."

"Has she?"

"Apparently the Duke of Normandy is apoplectic. He's willing to use Secret Service assets to end the relationship."

"He has connections to Russia. What, we do not yet know."

Beatrice nodded. "So, Lily's reporting daily about a stream of young and handsome men she's been casually mentioning to Charlotte."

"And how is that working?"

"Aside from raising Gazelle Flint's blood pressure at the misuse of one of her agents? Which she can't help because her boss is ordering it. It's not doing much."

Ange couldn't help but grin. "Anything that disturbs Gazelle Flint is not entirely wrong-headed."

***

Charlotte glanced at her pocket watch, and sighed. She closed the lid, and slipped it into her handbag. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hair was arranged, thanks to Beatrice. Spring was already turning quite warm, so she wore a casual, sleeveless green dress and a long-sleeved bolero. She was ready, and yet ....

She walked out of her room, and knocked on Chris' door. She heard what sounded like something falling onto the floor.

"Chris?"

"Just a moment!"

Charlotte frowned. "I haven't a moment! I need to leave now, for fear of missing them."

The door opened. Chris, face red, peeked her head out. She wore nothing more than a long white shirt. In her haste, she had misaligned the buttons.

"Um. Was I supposed to go with you?"

Charlotte frowned. "Well, yes. I suppose it is fine. If I am not safe on a military base, where am I safe?"

Chris nodded, and shifted awkwardly. "Right. Um. Okay. Sorry."

"You forgot. Or were you occupied with something? Or someone?"

Chris' blush deepened.

"Chris, I do not object to you and Matthew spending time together."

She heard an awkward, strangled sound in the room. "Sorry, Your Highness," Matthew called out from within.

This made Chris' face turn positively crimson.

"But," Charlotte continued, "I would appreciate it if this not get in the way of your duties."

"Sorry, Your Highness," Chris said quietly.

Charlotte sighed. "Well, I haven't any more time today, either to wait or to talk to you. I do expect you to be more attentive in the future, Chris."

"Yes ma'am," she replied with a quick bow.

***

It was more of a field than a military base: an RAF outpost not far from Queen's Mayfair Academy used both by fixed-wing aircraft and also smaller military airships. Such as the HMS _Goldfinch_ , currently landed and moored to a short tower some distance away.

Charlotte exited the royal limousine, nodding at the driver. She wasn't leaving the country, nor was she staying long.

She walked a short distance, and saw a Redcoat standing at attention near a gate in the security fence.

"Highness," the soldier said, saluting.

"Are they still here?" Charlotte asked.

"Yes ma'am, they've not boarded yet."

Charlotte nodded, glad not to have to ask further questions. "Good. Can I go on out?"

"Of course ma'am. Mind any instructions you receive from military personnel, but you're welcome to go."

The soldier opened the gate for her, and again saluted as she walked past.

"Thank you."

It was too easy, Charlotte mused. Had she been here on official business on her _night job_ , as it were ....

"Charlotte!"

She turned with a smile.

"David! Rebecca. I am glad you've not left yet."

"You're here to see us off`?"

"Yes. I've a message to deliver to you, from the Queen."

Charlotte handed David an envelope, and he glanced at it.

"Don't suppose you know what it is?"

"I was ordered not to look."

"And you didn't?" Rebecca asked teasingly.

"Of course not," Charlotte replied, without much heat.

"Well," David said with a smile. "It may have to do with our news."

"News?" Charlotte tilted her head in confusion.

"I'm pregnant, Lotte."

"Oh," Charlotte whispered in surprise.

Rebecca laughed.

"We're naming the baby after you," David said. "Charles if a boy, Charlotte if a girl."

"I ... I see."

"So," Rebecca said, "even if you're not Queen, you'll be immortalized. There shall be a Queen Charlotte! Well ... probably."

"I am honored," Charlotte managed to say. She forced a smile onto her face. "I am delighted for you."

"Thanks, cousin."

"Wait, should you be traveling, Rebecca?"

"I asked the same of my doctor. She said it was perfectly safe. I'm to stop drinking and smoking, as though I do either of those things now, but travel, dance, and other, ahem, strenuous activities ...."

David's cheeks reddened.

"Are all perfectly safe for me. For the moment in any case."

"I see," Charlotte said, with a nod. "Well, I hope that gambling and sun-bathing are permitted."

Rebecca smiled. "I'd not insist on going to Monaco if they weren't."

"She'll have plenty of opportunity for both. After the opening ceremony, I am afraid the conference is restricted to heads of state, their deputies, and diplomats."

"You could come along too Charlotte," Rebecca said, hopefully. "I'd adore the company, and fear that I will be quite bored otherwise."

"Sadly, I cannot. I still have classes, and besides I haven't packed."

"Ah. That is too bad."

Charlotte cleared her throat. "So ... how long have you known?"

Rebecca shifted her weight. "I've suspected for a few weeks now. My doctor confirmed it last week. Well, confirmed as well as it can be, before I start showing."

"Of course."

"You're one of the first to know, Charlotte."

Charlotte's smile widened, but still never quite reached her eyes. "I am very happy for you. For the both of you."

"Well," David said, "I think we've held up the military long enough. Shall we?"

"Take care," Charlotte said with a wave. "Enjoy Monaco."

"Thanks," Rebecca said.

The two walked, arm in arm, to the mooring tower. A boarding tunnel extended out from the tower, and David and Rebecca walked up the exterior staircase, entering the tunnel. Charlotte saw Rebecca turn and wave to her one last time through the windows of the tunnel.

They vanished, and the tunnel was withdrawn. After a moment, the airship floated free of its mooring. It rose up several hundred yards into the air. There was a puff of dark smoke from the engines, and the propellers began to spin.

A greenish haze formed over the aft quarter of the airship. As Charlotte watched, the haze turned into a distortion, like a droplet of water on a window. The hull of the airship buckled, twisting and bending in an impossible angle. In the next instant, the entirety of the vessel was engulfed in a green flame that flickered in entirely the wrong way.

Charlotte was knocked to the ground by a heavy, strong body. A soldier, she realized. He was covering her, holding her arms close with one hand, and keeping her head still and covered with the other.

"Don't move, Your Highness!" he commanded.

She felt a tingling sensation on her skin, and a flash of green light blinded her for a moment. Everything became eerily silent. Her vision cleared. She could see the mangled remains of the airship, still engulfed in green fire, spread across an open field adjacent to the airbase. The soldier above her wasn't moving. She tried, and failed, to push him off of her. Then, as a wave of pain and nausea surged through Charlotte, the blackness again overtook her.

***

Charlotte's eyes opened slowly. She was staring up at a plain white ceiling. She was lying on a somewhat uncomfortable mattress. It was utterly silent.

She blinked, and started to sit up. A nurse ran over to her. Charlotte saw her mouth move, but didn't hear what she was saying. When the nurse placed her hands on Charlotte's shoulders, she didn't fight. She lay back in bed. A feeling of panic rumbled in her.

"I can't hear you," Charlotte said.

The nurse looked at her in concern, then turned to say something. After a moment, a doctor came over to her. Looking directly at her, he slowly said a single word: "Deaf?"  
Charlotte, understanding if not hearing, nodded.

He and the nurse said something. The doctor took a notebook and wrote something in it, then held it up to her.

"It is temporary and should wear off in time."

Charlotte swallowed, and nodded that she understood.

The doctor looked at the nurse, who was saying something to him. The doctor looked at Charlotte with a thin smile, and he patted her shoulder, before standing up and walking away.

Charlotte took a deep breath, and looked around herself. It was a large room filled with metal-framed cots. Most were empty, but she saw two soldiers and a sailor. Or more properly, an airman. All three had burns that had a vaguely greenish tint.

Charlotte closed her eyes, and took another deep breath. When she opened them again, she saw a sight that made her smile.

She slowly sat up in bed, without a nurse coming over to restrain her this time.

Beatrice, Ange, and Prince Arthur were all standing at the foot of her bed. The doctor was explaining something to them. She saw Beatrice's eyes go wide in utter panic, and she turned to look at her.

The doctor left, and Beatrice was at her side in an instant, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around Charlotte, and the Princess embraced Beatrice as well.

"They say it is temporary," Charlotte said.

Beatrice pulled back from her, and nodded.

Ange, who looked on the verge of tears, was on the other side of the bed. She caressed Charlotte's cheek tenderly.

Arthur, standing at the foot of the bed, rolled his eyes and made a comment with a smirk.

Beatrice turned to him with a look of rage, and shouted something at him.

Charlotte could hear. It was only the very faintest buzz. Muffled as though a whisper heard through a ball of wax and cotton. But she could hear.

She blinked, and saw Arthur raise his hands and take a step back away from Beatrice. The girl then turned back to Charlotte, reached out, and so gently wrapped her hands around hers.

"Beato?" Charlotte said.

"Princess?" So faint. It was so very faint, but she could hear the word.

Charlotte took a deep breath, and looked at Ange. "I think that I heard that."

"Charlotte?" Ange said something else too, but it wasn't clear.

Arthur said something to the nurse, who nodded, and smiled at Charlotte.

"I ... cannot hear everything. But, I don't need to I suppose. Thank you for coming to see me."

Arthur stepped closer, on the side of the bed with Ange and keeping a careful eye on Beatrice.

"Charlotte ... glad to see ... seriously hurt."

Charlotte frowned, and looked at him closely. She felt Beatrice squeeze her hand, and she looked at her.

"... God you ... scared me!"

"Oh Beato," Charlotte whispered.

"There is no Cavorite poisoning," Ange said clearly. "It was only the shock."

Charlotte nodded. "I am glad of that."

"You heard her!" Beatrice said excited.

Charlotte smiled. "I did, Beato."

Beatrice squealed, and threw her arms around Charlotte's shoulders.

"I'm so glad!"

"Beato ... you're hurting me."

"Ah! Sorry, Your Highness!"

Ange leaned in close, before hesitating a moment. her cheeks turned red, and she glanced at Arthur out of the corner of her eyes.

"Well," she finally said in an even voice, "I am also glad to see that you are recovering."

"What happened?" Charlotte asked.

Ange's blush deepened, and she straightened up.

"Freak accident," Arthur said. "The Cavorite reactor overloaded, and the safety mechanisms failed. One in a million occurrence, they say."

Charlotte took a deep breath. "David? Rebecca? How are they? Are they ... did they get rescued?"

Arthur winced.

"Charlotte," Ange said quietly, "there were no survivors."

Charlotte's eyes widened in shock. She looked at Ange, who was suddenly unable to maintain eye contact.

Charlotte swallowed. "I ... I see. Um. Well. I am not certain ... I suppose ... I was talking to them right before ... I even asked, if she should travel. I mean, should I have .…"

"Your Highness," Beatrice whispered, "There was nothing that could be done. It isn't your fault. It isn't anyone's. That kind of thing can happen, even if it shouldn't."

"The military suspects either negligence or sabotage," Arthur said simply.

Beatrice scowled at him. "Now is not the time to go into that."

"Of course not," he nodded.

Charlotte turned back to Ange. The girl still could not maintain eye contact. She shifted awkwardly on her feet.

"I ... believe that I should go. Charlotte, I will ... I'll see you again soon."

"Alright," Charlotte replied.

"Well, I need to go too. Tedious details need to be attended to now, and I'm expected to do your part as well as mine," Arthur frowned.

Beatrice again glared at him, but chose not to say anything.

Ange and Arthur left the infirmary. Arthur leaned in close with a conspiratorial smirk. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you and she were lovers."

Ange frowned. "But you do know better."

He shrugged. "No concern of mine how she spends her free time. Frankly, if you _are_ her lover, then I must warmly compliment her taste in women."

Ange couldn't help but blush faintly. "Thank you? I suppose."

Arthur chuckled. "I hope to do half as well myself."

"I've not ever had the impression that you've been lacking in female companionship."

Arthur stopped walking, and tilted his head. "Have we met before?"

"I do not believe so," Ange said evenly.

He shrugged. "Alright. I guess it's just ... no. It's nothing."

***

The funeral service had been held in Westminster Abbey. The coffins, containing what remains could be salvaged, were buried at a private plot in Scotland, near the house David and Rebecca lived in. Thousands had been present in London, in or near Westminster, to pay their respects to the Royal Family. The burial in Scotland was attended only by those closest to the family.

There was a gentle breeze blowing, and a blue sky with sporadic white fluffy clouds. It was almost perversely beautiful.

The Queen sat in her wheelchair. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. She wore a heavy black mourning dress and veil.

Edward pushed the chair, walking slowly. He maintained a stoic expression, but his eyes looked tired. The Duke of Normandy walked alongside him in a dark blue suit with a black armband. His expression was neutral, unreadable.

Charlotte and Arthur walked quietly, side by side, a step behind the Queen. The rest of the family, such as it was, had already disbursed.

The group stopped just before the royal limousine.

"Well," Normandy said, "needless to say, I have a job to do."

The Queen nodded at him. "Yes. If this is ... if there is more to this than an accident, please find and punish those responsible."

Charlotte managed to keep an even expression.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

He bowed, and walked off, toward a private car. Gazelle Flint opened the rear driver side door for him, then entered the rear passenger side. After a moment, they drove off.

"I suppose the rest of you will be coming with me? There's plenty of room in the train at least."

"No grandmother. I'm tired," Arthur announced.

The Queen glanced at him with a frown. "Do you expect any of us are happy?"

"I just can't deal with this right now."

"Buck up, Art," Edward said harshly. "You're second in line after me now."

"Don't you think I know that, _Eddy_?"

"Children," the Queen chided. "kindly control yourselves."

Arthur shook his head. "I cannot deal with this. I am leaving."

"What?" Charlotte said. "Leaving to where?"

He looked at her with a frown. "Somewhere. For a few weeks. I don't know, I just need to get away from Albion, cozy up to a pretty girl, and get dead-drunk somewhere."

"Arthur!" The Queen said in shock.

He frowned at her. "Oh, it'll only be for a week or two. There's very little chance you'll pass on before I get back."

"Arthur," Edward said sharply, "mind your tongue."

"No," the Queen shook her head. "No, Edward. I can defend myself, thank you. Arthur, you are in severe pain right now."

Arthur scowled.

"I can understand this. I understand better than anyone else here what losing people means."

"Grandmother," Arthur said, "David was my cousin, not my husband of thirty years."

"Arthur, I am endeavoring to bless your holiday. Do not be an ass as I do so."

Arthur winced. "I apologize, grandmother."

The Queen nodded. "Accepted. Go and 'blow off steam', as they say. I would advise against dead-drunkenness, and you are not to cavort with women."

"Not openly in any case," Edward said.

The Queen glared at him, and he shrugged. "So long as it stays out of the Press, Majesty?"

The Queen sighed. "Very well. Arthur, I grant you two weeks. Be back in that time, ready to resume official duties as a member of this family."

"Yes, grandmother."

He turned to leave. There was no car waiting for him. He didn't appear to care.

Charlotte watched him go. Her eyes widened in sudden realization. "The Press?" she whispered.

"What's that, dear?" The Queen asked.

Charlotte shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing at all, grandmother."

***

The train ride home had been somber. Throngs of well-wishers waited at each station, but Charlotte didn't notice. She spent the journey in a seat on the train by herself. Thinking. Dangerous occupation.

When she returned to Queen's Mayfair Academy, without fanfare, she proceeded directly to Ange's room, and knocked on the door.

Dorothy answered, and promptly winced at the sour expression Charlotte wore. "Ange, I think this is for you."

Ange glanced up. "Princess!" She started to her feet, and walked over to her.

"My room. Now," Charlotte said coldly.

Dorothy and Ange shared a glance, and Ange nodded.

Charlotte walked to, and entered her room. Ange followed after her, and closed the door.

"Are you responsible?" Charlotte asked, without pleasantries or prelude. When Ange didn't answer right away, she turned to her frowning heavily. "Are. You. Responsible?"

"The airship? I considered every possibility ...."

"This is a yes?"

"Yes, Charlotte. I sabotaged the _Goldfinch._ The reactor overloaded, and the safety, which I destroyed, failed to prevent a catastrophic explosion."

"Did you know that Rebecca was pregnant?"

"Of course. That is why I acted when and how I did."

"Ange, I cannot believe this. You not only killed David and Rebecca, you did so in a manner calculated to maximize the number of deaths."

"The _Goldfinch_ was an _Acorn_ -class aerial destroyer, with a crew compliment of 35. For a transportation mission of this sort, the crew would be reduced to 20, give or take. There were no more than 22 or 25 persons aboard. Standard takeoff procedure is to rise in altitude and steer well clear of inhabited areas. In the event of a catastrophe such as happened, the loss of life is minimized."

"But why? Ange, why did you decide sabotage of an airship was the preferred method?"

"First, deniability. The Secret Service and the Royal Air Force will find nothing definitive suggesting sabotage. The evidence was consumed along with the airship itself. Second, it was the most efficient way to ensure that neither target escaped death."

"Ange, that is profoundly cold."

"Yes. One must be to murder."

Charlotte clenched her fists. "Dammit, this is everything that I did not want to have happen! David died, Rebecca died, their unborn child died ... and the entire crew of that airship died. There were other casualties as well. The soldier that saved my life suffered Cavorite poisoning. He'll live, and receive high honors for his action, but he'll never be the same. Not even after the treatment. Two other soldiers and an airman received severe burns attempting to extinguish the fire. I was there too Ange. I could have been injured or killed."

"You were not supposed to be there," Ange said in an even voice.

"But I was, Ange. I was. This is ... it's too much."

"What did you expect?" Ange said, surprisingly sharply. "You asked me to put you on the throne a year ago. I agreed. But did you? I mean, did you realize this is what it would require? We're spies, not magicians. I know Dorothy's planning to blackmail Arthur, and that should work ... but I had _nothing_ to go on. No scandal. No dark past or hidden skeletons. There was nothing. Once Rebecca became pregnant she had to die as well."

"I ... I would have accepted being displaced over this."

"Crybaby!"

Charlotte jolted in surprise.

"You accused me of being a crybaby once. And now, this? You're being squeamish. It isn't like you, not one little bit."

"Then why did you stop Zelda last year? Why didn't you just let the coup happen?"

"You know better than to ask that. They were never going to let you reign. If the Commonwealth won then you'd be executed for being a royal. If the Kingdom won, you'd be executed for treason. If it became another stalemate, then Zelda would've eventually tired of you and executed you herself."

Charlotte swallowed, and nodded. "Of course."

"So that was never an option. That said ... if it takes it, then I will kill everyone: The Queen, Parliament, every royal on either side of you in the succession ... I'll bring this nation to its knees for you, Charlotte."

"Don't. I don't want it that badly."

"You must, or we will fail."

"I do not believe that."

"We are committing treason, Charlotte. _We are the bad guys_. We may have noble aims, but we're consigning our souls to hell in the execution. We can't afford to be nice or gentle, and we cannot afford to be _squeamish_."

Charlotte took a very deep breath. "I cannot believe you are talking to me like this."

"You ... you cannot believe it?"

"Ange le Carré, I do not know what to think, nor what to do." She sighed, and sat down on the edge of her bed.

"Princess, I apologize for the harshness of my words. However, the deed has been done. There's no turning back now."

Charlotte nodded.

Ange knelt down at her side. "I am doing this for you," she whispered.

"I know," Charlotte said.

Ange looked up at her. "What should I do now? Should I disappear?"

"No! God, no. Charlotte, I need you."

"And I need you, Ange."

Princess reached down, gently cupping her hands over the Spy's cheeks. "I love you."

The Spy shivered. "I love you."

The Princess leaned down, pressing her lips to the Spy's. It was a quick but earnest kiss. "I am sorry for my harsh words as well, Charlotte. It was just a tremendous shock."

"That is good," the Spy replied. "If you ever become used to such a thing, then you will be no better than those ruling now."

"Perhaps, Charlotte."

They leaned in close together, their arms wrapping around one another. Their lips met. The kiss lingered.  


***

Charlotte sat in the clubroom. She had a paper in front of her, and she was jotting down something with a fountain pen. She frowned heavily, and crossed out what she had just written.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called out.

The door opened, and Chris entered. She wore the girls' school uniform.

"Sit down," Charlotte said tersely, setting her pen down.

Chris bowed, and took a seat.

"Chris, over the last few months, I have noticed a distinct decline in your performance. The day David was killed was the fist instance. Then, your preoccupation with Matthew made me late for a ribbon-cutting ceremony to open the new Royal Botanical Gardens. A minor thing, but still. Since then, you have forgotten, or been late, to two other functions."

"Sorry, Your Highness."

Charlotte sighed. "Sorry is no longer sufficient, Chris. You are to focus upon your job, both in protecting me and in carrying out my orders."

"Ma'am, I have. I've liquidated every enemy or suspect guardian on campus. I've saved your life at least twice since the airship incident, though I doubt you even noticed."

Charlotte frowned. "You accuse me of being ungrateful?"

"No! I mean, no ma'am. I worked quietly and behind the scenes. I didn't want you to notice. If I can prevent an attempt on your life without you knowing .…"

"Of course. Then I apologize for my harsh words. And yet, I maintain that this cannot continue."

"Of course, ma'am. I'll do a better job, I swear it!"

"I should hope so. Your performance has been exemplary otherwise. I should hate to inform Control and the Secret Service that your services were no longer required."

Chris winced.

Charlotte sighed. "But again, I am giving you another chance. Please, do not disappoint me."

Chris scrambled to her feet, and bowed. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll do better, ma'am."

"Good. You are dismissed, Chris."

Chris exited the clubroom. Matthew stood just outside, frowning heavily.

Chris wrapped her arms around him, and leaned in.

"I suspect you may be right about her," Chris whispered to him.

***

It was a beautiful, warm day in May. The bright warm sun, the vibrant colors of the flowers in the garden, and around the campus.

At lunchtime, Beatrice and Lily met just outside the main building. Both girls smiled, both girls blushed lightly, and they tentatively clasped their hands together.

"How is your day going, Lily?" Beatrice asked.

"Very well, thank you. And yours?"

Beatrice beamed. "Better now."

Lily's blush deepened, and she smiled.

They strolled along the path, taking their time. They didn't feel any need to rush. Even when they came into view of the usual table they all ate at.

Ange and Charlotte were sitting there.

As they approached, Charlotte smiled widely. "Hello Beato, hello Lily."

Beatrice smiled, though her cheeks reddened."Hello your highness. Hello Ange,"

Ange nodded.

Lily, face quite red, smiled shyly. "Um. Hey."

Beatrice released Lily's hand, to pull a chair out for her. She sat, with a smile. When Beatrice sat down again, she took Lily's hand in hers.

"Would you two like tea?" Charlotte asked.

"Oh. Um, sorry Your Highness," Beatrice said guiltily.

"No need to be. You are always serving us tea. Let me serve you for once."

Beatrice shrugged. "Okay."

Charlotte smiled, earnestly, and poured tea for both Lily and Beatrice.

"How goes it?" Ange asked.

"Quite well," Lily answered. "Thank you for asking. It's been some time since I've felt quite so ... relaxed."

She glanced at Beatrice with a smile, and Beatrice squeezed her hand.

Dorothy appeared, and trotted over to the table. "Sorry I'm late, guys." She leaned in to kiss Beatrice's lips.

"Is the rheumatism flaring up again, Dorothy?"

She glared at Ange, but didn't say anything. Instead, she sat down beside Beatrice.

"Tea?" Charlotte asked. When Dorothy nodded, Charlotte poured her a cup.

"Where are the others?" Lily asked.

"Good question. Chise left our room this morning without saying goodbye, and she didn't speak a word to me in class."

Dorothy shifted awkwardly. "She kinda came to me, Sweet. She told me she's getting tired."

Beatrice frowned. "Tired?"

"Of me, I suppose," Lily grumbled.

"Yeah."

"She broke up with me, Dorothy!"

"It's not like I care. I'm just relaying the message. Anyway, she's having lunch with the Junior team today."

Lily scowled, and Beatrice sighed. "And I suppose tomorrow, when Lily and I have lunch with them, Chise will be here."

"Most likely," Dorothy said.

"The nerve of that little .…"

"Lily," Charlotte said in as calming a voice as she could manage, "I think it may be for the best this way. You two have been on poor terms for some time now."

"But she and Marilla are the ones that told me to leave!"

"It does not matter," Charlotte said. "Who started what, who is at fault for what. I do not like seeing you upset at one another. Give her time, Lily."

"Time," Lily hissed.

"Lily," Beatrice said, "don't worry about her, please? I'll try to talk to her tonight. I don't want you two fighting."

"It makes Club functions awkward too," Dorothy frowned.

Lily sighed. "Fine. I'll stop thinking about her then. I hope you can smooth things over between us."

Beatrice leaned in close to Lily, kissing her cheek. Lily blushed, but a thin smile crossed her lips.

There was a commotion in the courtyard behind them. They turned to look. They saw a growing cluster of students, mostly girls, staring in open amazement at a young man with ash-blonde hair, wearing an immaculately-pressed suit. He was looking around at the various tables, as though to find someone.

Charlotte's cheeks turned pink. "George," she whispered.

Ange, Beatrice, and Dorothy all frowned.

Charlotte stood up, and started walking in his direction. He apparently noticed, as he walked towards her as well.

"Why is he here?" Dorothy muttered.

"George? What a pleasure to see you here. Are you here to luncheon with us?"

"Whats going on?" Lily whispered.

"Watch," Beatrice said, a touch of bitterness in her voice.

"I've come, my darling, to ask you ,,,,"

He dropped to one knee, and several girls cried out.

Beatrice and Ange scowled. Dorothy sighed in annoyance.

Lily gasped in surprise, her eyes widening. She turned to Beatrice with a grin ... which vanished when she saw the look on her face.

"Princess Charlotte, will you make me the happiest man on earth?" He held up a brown leather case, which he opened with a smooth motion.

Charlotte, face bright red, looked at the ring. it was a simple silver band, with a moderate, tasteful, but very sparkly, diamond solitaire inset.

She forced a grin onto her face. "I," she stammered.

Beatrice rolled her eyes.

Lily glanced between the romantic scene, and Beatrice who was clearly not buying it. She shifted uncertainly in her seat.

"I will!" Charlotte said at last.

There were more screams from the crowd.

George, grinning widely, pulled the ring out of the box, and slipped it on to Charlotte's finger. Then, holding her hand tightly, he rose to his feet, wrapped his arm around her, and leaned in to kiss her.

A theatrical kiss, of course. As fake as every other facet of their "relationship." From the shouts and squeals of the girls around them, it apparently looked sufficiently real.

The 'kiss' broke, and they leaned in close together.

"Christ, George, warn me before you pull this kind of stunt," Charlotte whispered.

"I pray I only need pull it once."

"It is a nice ring though," Charlotte admitted.

"It's yours to keep. I wont be a cad and demand it be returned after I end the engagement."

"I should hope not! I will call upon the might of our army to defend it from your clutches should you try."

George laughed, and gave her cheek a light, earnest kiss.

Beatrice's teacup clattered down against the saucer, sending tea sloshing out onto the table-cloth. "I've lost my appetite," she muttered.

"As have I," Ange agreed in annoyance.

Lily sighed. "It was a very romantic scene though, one must admit."

Beatrice scowled at her. "It was a repulsive act."

"I know it was an _act_ ," Lily said defensively, "but ... it still looked ... beautiful"

"I suppose you want a show like that some day," Beatrice muttered.

"Of course," Lily sighed.

"Well, good luck finding the man to play the part," Beatrice muttered, standing, and striding off.

"Wh ... what? What'd I say?"

Dorothy sighed.

"Entirely the wrong thing Lily," Ange said. "You should have agreed with her, that it was indeed an unpleasant display."

"But ... I thought it was beautiful! Even if it was fake. Was I supposed to lie?"

"Yeah," Dorothy said. "Think about it. A lie that gets you laid tonight, as opposed to the truth that sees you sleeping cold and alone."

Lily looked at Dorothy in shock.

"I might have phrased it differently, but that is the essence of it," Ange said.

Lily swallowed, and hurriedly stood up to run after Beatrice.

Dorothy chuckled.

"Why do you permit this?" Ange asked.

"Ah, it's harmless. Not like I'm anyone to complain about it. Gave her something to do when I was in Jamaica last month at least. Besides, you have to admit they're kinda cute together."

Charlotte and George, hand-in-hand, walked over to the table.

"Ms le Carré, Ms MacBean," George bowed.

"George," Ange replied, "that was a shameless display."

George grinned roguishly. "I didn't want there to be any doubt. The single best way to ensure everyone knows about a romantic gesture is to do it in full view of a gaggle of young women."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "I agree with Ange, as it happens. If you intended to take me by surprise, you succeeded."

"I'm hurt, my love."

Charlotte glared at him, and George chuckled.

"Like it or not, we are engaged now Charlotte. Keep the purpose in mind."

"That," Ange said rising to her feet, "is what I should like to remind you."

George frowned. "Not you too. Henry was adamant that this was a bad decision."

"You should have listened to him," Charlotte chided.

"You could have refused me, then."

Charlotte sighed. "No, the issue is not the engagement, but the timing and placement. You do hear them behind us, right?"

George nodded. "Yes, of course. Today the schoolgirls of Queen's Mayfair, tomorrow the Times of London. I can already see the flashes of the cameras."

"I have things to do," Ange said, terse and cold. "I shall leave the two of you alone to bask in the joy of your new-established betrothal."

Charlotte's eyes went wide. "Wait, Ange! I was hoping to finish lunch."

"It appears that lunch has ended prematurely," Ange said. She walked off.

George frowned. "Well. Apparently, I hit a nerve."

Dorothy stood up, smirking. "Yeah, looks like it. Nice going, Georgie."


	6. Chapter 6

Classes had been over for several hours. The late sunlight of early evening cast long shadows through the courtyard and garden of Queen's Mayfair Academy. It was a warm day.

Charlotte felt cold.

She hadn't found Ange after lunch. It wasn't too unusual. The girl was a spy who could fly. When she didn't want to be found, she wasn't found. Simple. However as Charlotte walked down the quiet corridor in the dormitory toward the familiar door to the room Ange and Dorothy had shared since she had first come to the school she couldn't help but turn dark alternatives through her mind.

George had proposed. In a very open manner. No one had appreciated the gesture, aside from the girls of the academy prone to romantic dreams. A Duke (or the son of one) proposing to a Princess? The stuff of novels!

She hesitated at the door. She would apologize. She clenched her hand into a fist, raising it. Apologize for George's actions? What did Ange expect to happen anyway?

She shook her head. She'd talk with her soon. No value in running it through her mind now.

She knocked on the door, two sharp raps with her knuckles.

There was no immediate response. Charlotte frowned, and glanced up and down the hallway. No other doors opened. Perhaps Ange hadn't come back here? Maybe she had flown over to London, to perch up on Big Ben? Idly, she wondered if Tanya were busy. Maybe the other Commonwealth spy with a C-ball could help?

Charlotte sighed, and raised her hand to knock a second time, when the door opened.

"Charlotte?!" Both girls said at once, in surprise.

Ange's hair was a mess. Her braid hung loose over her face, the black ribbon absent. Her school uniform was loose, rumpled, her legs and feet bare. Her cheeks were flush, and her eyes were red, puffy, and unfocused.

Charlotte wrinkled her nose at the scent of alcohol.

"Um," Ange slurred. "Charlotte. You, um. You want to see me?"

Charlotte took a deep breath, and nodded. "Of course, Ange. May I come in?"

Ange shifted her weight uneasily, glancing over her shoulder. Then with a shrug and thin nod, she stepped aside.

Charlotte noticed first the half-empty bottle of whisky on the table in the room, and the half-full glass sitting beside it. Ange's bed was unmade, the topsheet half-draped over the edge. Dorothy's bed, in sharp contrast, was made, neat, and obviously untouched.

Ange closed the door behind them.

"Um, would you like some?" she asked, gesturing vaguely at the bottle.

Charlotte frowned, and sat down at the table. "Alright," she replied.

Ange nodded, and grabbed a fresh glass from the liquor cabinet. She filled it up with whisky, set it in front of Charlotte, then she drained her own glass in one gulp and refilled it. She then collapsed into a chair with a heavy sigh.

"Charlotte," the Princess asked softly, "should we be drinking Dorothy's Scotch?"

The Spy nodded. "S'okay. She's said we could. Or I could. Doubt she'd mind you joining me."

The Spy then raised her glass with an unsteady hand. "Salud."

"Salute," The Princess replied, thin and uncertain.

They sipped their drinks.

"Charlotte," the Princess said as evenly as she could, "where is Dorothy tonight? Is there a reason that you have decided to drink alone in your room?"

The Spy blinked. "Oh. Well. I mean, Dorothy's helping Beatrice smooth over Lily." the Spy's cheeks brightened a touch. "I mean, smooth over Chise and Lily. Erm .…"

Princess nodded, with a thin smile. "I understand your meaning. She is helping them come to terms. I trust everyone is aware?"

"Yeah," the Spy replied. "Chise and Marilla know, and they're all eating supper and talking and kinda getting things out and in the open and ... um ... better? We hope."

"Yes. Yes, it's best to discuss your problems, rather than shove them into a corner to fester."

The Spy suddenly couldn't keep eye contact. She looked down into her glass. Drained it with one gulp, then refilled it.

"Charlotte," Princess whispered, "please talk to me?"

The Spy shrugged. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

"Running off. I mean, I knew he'd do it sooner or later. Wish it hadn't been like that." She looked up at Princess with a heavy frown. "Announce it, like a proper nobleman, not just drop like a common cheap pulp romance hero!"

Princess sighed, draining her whisky, then refilling her glass. "I agree, Charlotte. He chose an unnecessarily lurid way of doing it. But again, you knew it was going to happen. Knowing George, you could also have anticipated his method. Is there more?"

The Spy gulped, and shrugged. "David," she whispered.

Princess sighed. "That was two months ago, Charlotte. I forgave you."

"How do you forgive murder," the Spy muttered.

"By reminding myself that I ordered it, to start."

The Spy winced, and drained half her whisky.

"You're drinking too fast, Charlotte. Please, place the glass down. I need you sober enough to understand what we're discussing."

The Spy nodded, setting her glass down and shoving her hands under her thighs. "Um, I just ... I keep hurting you, Charlotte. Pressuring you to run from trouble instead of facing it, then letting you get into trouble anyway. And ... not finding better means. And jealousy."

"Charlotte," Princess whispered, "I can fully understand why you would be jealous. You know, I felt the stirrings of it when I saw you and Henry together."

The Spy blushed heavily, looking down at her glass. She pulled a hand free, reached toward the glass ... then clenched her hand into a fist, and lowered it again.

"Act," the Spy said.

"Yes, precisely. I feel no more for George than you for Henry, or either of them for us."

The Spy nodded slowly.

"David and Rebecca cannot be brought back to life."

The Spy shrugged.

"And Casablanca should have only pleasing memories, for both of us. The unpleasantness from last year is insignificant compared to the happy times. And, we shall have more there as well."

"Will we?"

"Naturally. Come what may, the white house is still there, waiting for us."

The Spy nodded. "I bought it. Had it rebuilt. Can rebuild it again. It's ... I mean, it's _us_ , isn't it?`"

Princess frowned. "Regardless, Charlotte. Is there anything else?"

The Spy shook her head slowly. "Yes," she said.

Princess blinked. "What else?"

"I love you, Charlotte."

Princess smiled. "I love you as well. Ange le Carré."

Ange looked up at her, with a thin, shy smile. Charlotte's smile widened.

"Now," Charlotte said, raising her glass. "If there is nothing else? How long is Dorothy to be gone tonight?"

Ange shrugged. "Dunno. Umm, we can go to your room I guess?"

Charlotte shook her head. "No, we'll remain here. The whisky is here, after all, and I don't think dragging an open bottle of whisky and a drunken girl across campus is a good idea."

Ange blinked, glanced at the bottle, and giggled. "S'pose not."

"Cheers?" Charlotte said, gesturing toward Ange with her glass.

"Cheers!" Ange replied, picking up her glass, and tapping it against Charlotte's.

 

***

 

Charlotte sat in the Natural History Clubroom, reading. She held the book in one hand, and periodically lifted the second to turn the page.

A few seats down from her, Beatrice and Tanya sat side by side. A book was open in front of them, and Tanya was scribbling notes in a spiral-bound notebook. Beatrice pointed to a section of text in the book, whispering. Tanya nodded, and crossed out part of what she had just written.

The door to the room opened abruptly, banging against the wall.

Charlotte jolted in surprise, and Beatrice squeaked. The lead of Tanya's pencil snapped, and she glowered at it.

Ange stormed into the room, frowning. Her expression was dark, and angry.

"God dammit, I said I was sorry!" Dorothy shouted, striding in after her.

"Sorry does not ameliorate the mistake," Ange hissed.

"Ange, Dorothy! Calm yourselves," Charlotte chided sternly.

Ange took a very deep breath, clenching her fists.

Dorothy closed the clubroom door, and turned with a frown to Charlotte.

"I admitted that I screwed up," she explained.

"Start from the beginning," Charlotte said calmly.

"Dorothy and I had a mission," Ange said in a strained voice. "We were to tail a target, and intercept him before he could exchange information with an agent of the Kingdom."

Beatrice and Tanya glanced at each other, remaining silent.

"Dorothy nodded off."

"I haven't been sleeping well," she grumbled.

"This is no excuse," Ange said. "We are professional spies. Sleeping poorly is no excuse. Especially not when lives are at stake."

"We were told we could eliminate the target," Dorothy said, her voice just starting to waver.

" _If_ we failed to prevent the exchange. It was a sub-optimal solution, considered better than outright failure." She turned to Charlotte. "We were forced to kill both the target and the agent of the Kingdom."

"I see," Charlotte said, nodding. "That is quite serious."

"Princess," Dorothy said nearly whining, "I am sorry, okay! It was my fault. Completely and utterly. I fucked up, people died. At least it wasn't us."

"Perhaps next time it will be," Ange hissed.

"Ange, please."

"No, Charlotte. I cannot accept a mere apology, even if _you_ insist. Not in this case."

Charlotte blinked in surprise.

"Dorothy," Ange continued in a low and dangerous voice, "seek medical help. Find out what the hell is wrong. Fix it, or else retire."

Dorothy blinked, and nodded. "Yeah," she whispered, settling into a chair. "Yeah, sure. I'll. Yeah."

"Have you a doctor?" Charlotte asked.

"Not ... not really. I just ... I go to the company doctor, or the school infirmary. I mean, I don't trust the infirmary that much, and ... well, I wanna know what's wrong before Control does, so the company doc's out."

"Doro, I'll set up an appointment with my doctor. She's very skilled, and you needn't worry about cost. I will handle that."

Dorothy blinked, and looked at Beatrice. "I ... I mean, cost isn't the problem Sweet. But ... yeah. Yeah, okay. That ... that sounds good."

Beatrice sighed, standing, and crossing around to Dorothy. She wrapped her arms around the older girl, and Dorothy collapsed against her. Sniffling.

"God, Sweet. I just can't sleep. I feel sore and miserable all the time. Can't focus in class, can't focus on missions." She blinked, and turned to Charlotte. "And I guess I kinda need to apologize to you too, Charlotte."

Ange blinked, and frowned. "What?"

"I said nothing," Charlotte said quietly. "It was insignificant. Merely a misunderstanding."

Ange turned to Dorothy. "You became angry at Charlotte?`"

"Ange," Charlotte said in a sharper voice, "I said it was insignificant. If you insist on pursuing this matter I shall become upset."

Ange nodded. "Of course. I apologize, then. Beato, Dorothy, I hope your doctor can find out what the problem is, and solve it. I should hate to escalate this issue to L."

"Yeah, please don't," Dorothy whispered.

 

***

 

Gazelle Flint sat at her desk. It was spread with photographs, news clippings, and notepads. An ashtray sat on one corner, the remains of a dozen cigarettes crumpled up within. A smoldering stub of one hung from the corner of her mouth.

She glanced at a slip of paper.

" _You've misplaced a Princess? We seem to've found one._ "

She frowned. Princess, Chris, herself. A small handful of agents and soldiers. The household staff. Too pat. Too convenient. She had been worried at the time, and yet ....

She glanced at a newspaper. At the photograph of Charlotte and George walking, hand-in-hand. Beside it was a small pile of photographs: George and Charlotte dancing. George and Charlotte sipping champagne together. Charlotte's friend, that one Incognia rube, leaning against George's friend, his arms around her torso.

Stockholm, New Years' Eve. Gazelle tapped her fingertips on the newspaper. Convenient. So very convenient.

Charlotte and that girl were close friends. Closer than friends, if her information was correct. George and that other man were the same: closer than friends.

And now, Charlotte and George were engaged. Rumors swirled that the other girl -- what was her name, Agnes? Ange. That was it: Ange -- and George's friend were on the cusp of engagement themselves.

Another photograph from Stockholm. Charlotte and Ange sharing a kiss. Gazelle frowned. No one noticed, or said they noticed. And the next photo showed Charlotte and George kissing. Or appearing to.

She sighed. So it was too convenient. Lavender marriages were a grand tradition after all, especially amongst the royalty. She hadn't even bothered mentioning this to Normandy. Maybe he could use this? Leverage

Charlotte's deception, to force her to wed the Crown Prince of Russia. She tapped the photograph again. Perhaps, but what would it gain them?

She turned to another photograph. Blurry, hastily shot. A thin girl in a black, long-sleeved body-suit. Frilly skirt. Bare legs. Thick boots. A mask was over her nose and mouth, and a tophat perched on her head. She was caught in the act of spinning, raising her gun. The photographer had narrowly avoided being shot in the next second.

More photographs. Spies. Commonwealth spies. The petite one in green, who had recently taken to wearing a mask as well. Oversize revolver, a le Mat. Gazelle had lost two agents who hadn't counted on shotgun blasts from it. She was more dangerous than she looked. Rumor had it that she had a clockwork voicebox. Rumor had it that she was bullet-proof. Gazelle disliked rumors, especially the more absurd ones.

The one in black and blue, always wearing a face veil. Always. Sometimes her agents reported seeing long, flowing blonde hair. She glanced at the girl in the tophat. Grey hair. Grey. Blonde.

She glanced at a photograph of Ange and Charlotte and George and Heinrich ... no, he went by the English form Henry.

She then glanced back at the veiled agent. She tapped it twice, then glanced at a photograph of Charlotte, standing beside a piano. She frowned, and tapped that photograph once. Tracing her outline. Then looking back at the veiled agent. Tracing her outline.

Her cigarette had died. Absently she crushed it into the ashtray. She pulled her glasses off, closed her eyes, and massaged the bridge of her nose.

In her minds' eye, she saw the Ninja, turning to her with her hand flexing. Preparing to battle her.

" _There is more going on here than you know, ninja._ "

She opened her eyes, replacing her glasses. She hadn't any photographs of her. Some of her more superstitious agents claimed her image couldn't be captured on film. Dark Oriental Magic, some whispered. Nonsense of course.

Gazelle sighed, and glanced at the last photograph. The tall, buxom brunette. Flint tapped the photograph twice, running her fingertips slowly down the surface. Of all of them, Gazelle most regretted being her enemy. It wasn't for any reasonable, logical reason. She found her attractive, simply put. Oh, there wasn't any doubt that's what she was aiming for. The spy dressed the way she did to distract and entice. Gazelle was enticed. She was not distracted.

Her gaze shifted again to a photograph taken at Queen's Mayfair Academy. A group of friends, smiling, happy together.

Lily Gaveston. Gazelle frowned. She was getting very close to Princess Charlotte. And Ange. And the tall, buxom brunette named Dorothy MacBean. And the petite girl with the twin-bun hairstyle. A baron's kid, wasn't she?

Gazelle glanced at the photographs of the spies, then glanced back at the photo from Queen's Mayfair.

She tapped the photo, underneath the Japanese exchange student.

"Ninja," Flint whispered. She scowled.

Too convenient. Five spies. Five students. Gaveston was useful, but she seemed awfully close to the five students. Then again, the last few times Flint had acted on Gaveston's information had turned sour quickly. Such things happened. It was just ... convenient.

Gazelle Flint did not believe in _convenient_. She frowned, her eye roving slowly back and forth between the photographs of the Spies and the Students.

Very, very convenient.

The door to her office opened, shattering her focus. She scowled up at the agent who leaned in with wide eyes and a frazzled expression.

"Sorry to interrupt ma'am, but you're needed in the wireless room."

"Wireless?"

"Please, hurry!"

Something about his tone of voice made Flint stand without further questions, and followed him.

A man with a worried expression sat at the device, headphones over his ears and a microphone in his hand, held up to his mouth. He glanced at her fearfully.

Flint frowned, and slipped on a spare set of headphones.

".... making their move!" It was Lily's voice.

Flint grabbed the microphone from the wireless operator, who didn't resist.

"Report, Gaveston."

"Oh, thank God! The Commonwealth spies have finally lost their patience. They're after the Princess, and I think they ...." There was the sound of a heavy impact against wood, and Lily screamed.

"Oh God, they're breaking through! They know about me! For the love of sweet Christ, help me!"

Flint flung her headphones off her head, though she could hear the sound of wood splintering. Another scream from Gaveston, followed by the sharp retort of a gunshot. Then the loud, high-pitched sizzle of static.

"Send all police units that are available to Queen's Mayfair Academy," Flint barked, striding through the hallways. "Get me a regiment of infantry if you can. Princess Charlotte is in danger."

"Yes ma'am," an agent saluted, running off to relay the orders.

"Get a car ready," she snapped to two agents trotting after her.

"One's already ready," a male agent responded in clipped tones.

Flint didn't respond. She made her way to the garage, where a hard-top sedan was sitting, idling. A male agent was behind the wheel. One of the agents following her, a woman, hastily opened the rear passenger door for Gazelle, who slid in without acknowledging the gesture.

The female agent sat in the front passenger side, and the second male agent sat beside Flint in the rear driver's side.

The driver took off at speed without further instruction.

"Any more information?" Flint asked in a controlled but demanding tone.

"No, ma'am. You know what we know."

Five students. Five spies? Or four spies and a foolish Princess? Or was the Princess ... she stopped the train of thought. There was no value to speculation. Not now any way.

When they got within sight of the Academy, Gazelle could tell something was wrong. The main gate to the school was open. A single police car, a hard-topped sedan painted blue and white, sat in front. The passenger side door was open, one officer seated and the other leaning against the hood.

When the car pulled up alongside, Flint was out immediately.

"Where's the rest?"

The officers looked at each other.

"You called 'em off, didn't ya?"

Flint frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Well, we was in the area so we stopped by, but you called off the police, yeah?"

"No, I did not."

The officers glanced at one another again. "Well, main office thought ya did. S'truth, we was in the area, so we stayed, but the whole lot was called off. Supposedly by you. Um, ma'am."

Flint glowered at the men. "You're with me. Now."

She turned and strode in through the gate. The police hurried to their feet, settling their helmets and truncheons into place as they trotted after her. The three agents followed, glancing nervously around.

Students watched the odd procession curiously, but there was no sense of urgency or tension. There was a tickling sensation at the back of Gazelle's mind: it didn't feel as though any gunshots had gone off on this campus. _Trap._ And yet, she could not afford to pull back, not afford to treat this as anything but what it seemed to be.

"Charlotte is on the third floor of the senior dormitory," Flint stated, entering the building.

"What about Gaveston?" the female agent asked.

"What about her?"

"Um ... we ought to check on her."

Flint sighed. "Fine. You and you," she glanced at one of the police officers, "can go and look. The rest are with me."

Princess Charlotte's door was ajar. Flint drew her automatic, and glanced at the others. The agents drew similar autopistols. The policeman took a nervous step back, and hesitantly drew his truncheon.

One agent moved to the door, and both Flint and the other agent took up positions on either side.

A pair of students watched with utter surprise as the agent pushed the door open, and Flint and the other charged in, leading with their guns.

The policeman shrugged in their direction, and they wandered past.

The room was empty, except for ... Flint frowned. A note lay on Charlotte's desk.

She picked it up. _Tag, you're it!_ it read, along with an address on the southeast outskirts of London.

Flint didn't say anything, turning and striding out of the room. She didn't bother holstering her pistol. Several students cried out in alarm, scampering out of her way, or ducking into dorm rooms.

The female agent and the other police officer met her as she was moving down the stairs.

"The wireless was damaged, but didn't look like it had been shot. The door's fine."

"Trap," Flint stated.

"Likely so," the agent agreed.

Flint frowned. Lily Gaveston ... was she a traitor, or a dupe?

"Go here," she snapped at the police officer, showing him the note.

"Tag?"

"Go. Here."

He gulped, and nodded. "Yes ma'am."

The police car raced on ahead, with both officers. Gazelle handed the note to one of the other three agents, who settled in behind the wheel of the car, and without needing clarification, drove off as soon as everyone was seated.

Gazelle looked at her pistol. Safety on. Full magazine. In good repair. Clean. She took a deep breath. Seven shots. Five spies?

Flint was out of the car before it completely stopped rolling. The police officers were standing outside of their car, looking uncertainly at the building. It was a single-story house. An old design, that had seen better days. The front windows were boarded up. It looked as though it ought to be condemned.

Flint approached the door, and the female agent trotted past her to grip the knob and prepare to open it. The male agents drew their automatics and arranged themselves around the door.

The police officers glanced at one another.

"Just like Sidney street, ain't it?"

"Ain't no soldiers, and Normandy ain't nowhere to be seen."

"Quiet," Flint hissed.

They shifted awkwardly, and tried to look prepared.

Gazelle nodded, and the female agent tried the doorknob. It wasn't locked.

Everyone gasped nervously at this, except for Flint. She kept her own nerves silent.

Past a small foyer a single corridor ran down the middle of the house. There were two doors on the left, one on the right, and one straight on ahead.

First door on the left: Male agent opened it, and everyone with a gun pointed it inside. It was empty, aside for some packing crates and a trunk.

One agent and one police officer entered.

Door on the right: Female agent opened it. A double bed, empty and unmade. Dresser. Chamber pot, mercifully empty. The female agent and the other police officer entered it.

Second door on the left: Male agent opened the door. Wooden dining table, wood-burning stove, ice-box. One male agent entered the room

That left one door. Gazelle and the last agent shared a look. Flint gestured at the door with her head, and the agent nodded. He gripped the knob. Took a deep breath. Tugged it open, and Flint darted inside, leading with her pistol.

The room was dark. The only light came spilling in through the open door, and it was none too bright at that. _Too obvious._

She aimed her pistol at the shadowy figure looming in front of her.

"Flint," said a voice behind her. "I'd recommend dropping the gun."

Gazelle's eyes went wide. _It was her own voice_. The light abruptly flicked on, and Gazelle blinked. She could just barely see a girl with short black hair, no more than 16, aiming a sawn off shotgun at her. Her eyes were wide, and held a wild, fiery expression.

Flint nodded, dropping her pistol, and placing her hands on the back of her head.

"Thanks. I know she'd love to kill you, but I'd hate to have to do the extra paperwork."

A petite girl with long brown hair pulled back into a pony tail, wearing a green bodysuit and a mask over her nose and mouth, stepped out from behind her. She was holding a leMat revolver with both hands.

"Amanda, please put down the gun."

The girl with the shotgun sighed, but she complied. Without needing further instruction, she walked over to Gazelle, grabbing her right arm roughly, and fastening a cuff to her wrist.

There was a gunshot elsewhere in the house, and the petite girl sighed.

"I said no firing!"

"Sorry!" a voice called out. Flint frowned, as the dark-haired girl with the shotgun cuffed Gazelle's hands behind her back.

"Come on then," the petite girl said, frowning.

In the second room on the left, one of the police officers stood over a male agent, holding a revolver. The agent was on the ground, a spreading pool of red beneath him, and smoke billowed out of his gun.

"Bob!" the petite girl chided.

"Sorry ma'am, man wouldn't surrender. Figured better him than me."

She sighed, and walked past.

A black girl holding a large, heavy looking revolver, stood in the doorframe to the first door on the left. The two remaining male agents and the other police officer stood, hands raised in the air.

"I got these jerks under control, Mama-bear," the black girl said seriously.

The petite girl nodded. "Good work."

The female agent walked out of the room on the right.

"B, this is everyone," she announced.

"Good."

Flint frowned. "I must admit to being impressed. This was a smooth, even flawless, operation."

The petite girl shrugged. "What can I say? My girls are pros, and my loaner agents," she glanced at the female 'agent' and 'police officer,' "weren't too bad either."

The main door of the house opened. A girl with very short red hair stepped in, followed by a half-dozen burly men in shoddy suits.

"Miss Gazelle Flint," she said with a smirk, "Name's Tina. It's nice to meet you. These gentlemen have a question or two for you. I'd recommend you go quiet-like with them, and then sing like a canary once they got you safe. I mean, I don't know just what they plan to do if you don't, but me? I'd hate to be you if you decide to not cooperate."

 

***

 

POP! The cork went flying across the room, and there was a spray of white foam. Dorothy laughed.

The Principal and Junior teams all cheered.

"Nice work, Sweet!" Dorothy cried out, filling Beatrice's glass.

The younger girl beamed. "Thanks," she replied in Gazelle Flint's voice.

Dorothy smirked. "You gonna keep that voice on?"

She shrugged. "Well, just for a little longer. Call it my trophy, for bagging such an impressive Gazelle."

Tanya laughed, and clapped her arm around Beatrice's shoulders. "That's my Mama-bear," she grinned.

Lily cleared her throat, and put her arm around Beatrice's waist. "I believe that you will find that she is _my_ bear, thank you."

"Says you," Dorothy winked, causing Lily to blush.

Dorothy filled everyone's glass.

Ange, Charlotte, Dorothy, Chise, Beatrice, Tanya, Tina, Amanda, Chris, and Lily all raised their glasses.

"To Gazelle Flint," Dorothy said. "May L skin her alive and use her fucking hide as a rug!"  


***

 

Charlotte, her eyes closed, stroked the piano keys softly. Holding the notes. She lifted her hands and they died away into a mournful echo, along with the thin wavering sound of a violin.

After a moment of silence, the applause started.

Charlotte opened her eyes, smiling. She scooted back from the piano, and turned to the man standing beside her. He gripped his bow and violin in one hand, and reached his other for her. Her smile widened (perform for the audience) and set her hand in his. Standing in a smooth motion. Not needing his help, but appearing grateful. Gracious. Graceful. All the things a Princess needed to be.

He released her hand, took a step back, and gestured toward her. The applause increased in volume.

Charlotte saw a vast gulf around her. The dimness of the lighting around the auditorium sharply contrasted with the intense limelight in the center. But she knew. She heard the applause. She felt it, through the stage. Through the air.

"Bravo!" More than once the word carried out from the audience to her ears.

She smiled, closed her eyes, and curtseyed. The applause grew thunderous.

"Bravo! Bravo!"

The violinist bowed, then reached out to take her hand again. Charlotte nodded and smiled at him, and together they walked slowly around the piano, and then down the aisle away from the round, center stage. Away from the limelight and applause.

She sighed. "Thank you Franz. You were wonderful."

"Not so wonderful as you, Your Highness."

"You flatter me," she said evenly. "Here you are, foremost violinist in the world ...."

He laughed. "And you claim that I flatter you?"

A young woman carrying a flute smiled as she walked past the two. "Wonderful, Your Highness."

"Thank you," she smiled. Grateful. Graceful.

She could just barely hear the flute begin to play, when she saw Chris.

The bodyguard frowned, and moved over to her.

"What's wrong Chris?"

"Apologies, we have to leave, now."

"What? Whyever for?"

Chris glanced at the violinist, who shifted awkwardly, releasing Charlotte's hand. "Don't let me keep you."

He hurried away, giving Chris a quick, furtive glance.

"This way, Your Highness," Chris said abruptly.

"Chris, what is going on?" She frowned, but followed the other girl.

"Credible threat. We believe someone's making a move."

"Oh. Has this anything to do with what happened to Gazelle Flint?"

"No. Ma'am, we do need to hurry."

"Yes, of course."

Chris led her to a back door. She moved through first, glancing around uncertainly, before gesturing Charlotte out.

Princess felt uncomfortably worried. And as Chris quietly but swiftly led her though a series of alleys and dark, deserted roads, her worry steadily increased.

"Chris, why are we going this way?"

The blonde stopped, holding up her hand. She glanced around, and stepped away from Charlotte.

"Safehouse," the woman said quietly.

"Is the danger that real?"

"Yes," said a new voice. A male voice.

Charlotte gasped, and turned. Ahead, stepping out of the darkened mist, a lone figure in a dark black suit. Carrying a Nagant M1895 revolver.

"Matthew," she hissed.

He stepped forward, and smirked. "Your Highness. I'm forced to apologize. I had hoped to avoid this, but sadly you refused to see reason."

"What are you talking about?"

His smile vanished. "Tsesarevich Alexander was more than suitable for you. You'd never have been queen of this benighted place. You could've had power and wealth. Luxury. And all you'd had to do was say yes, and bear his children. So simple."

Charlotte swallowed, and took a deep breath. "Chris?"

"Sorry, Princess," she heard her say.

Then before she could react Chris' hand clamped onto her shoulder. The barrel of Chris' gun lightly pressed against her back.

"Please don't struggle, Charlotte. Don't make this any harder than it already is."

"I trusted you Chris," Charlotte whispered.

"A second mistake," Matthew gloated.

Charlotte frowned. "You won't get away with this, you know."

He laughed. "We're not in a pulp novel, Charlotte. There's no dashing prince coming to save you. Your 'friends,' such as they are, are being dealt with.

"What?!"

She felt Chris lean against her. "It really is the end," Chris said quietly.

"Why?" she asked as evenly as she could.

"Perhaps because you treated your 'trusted bodyguard' like garbage?" Matthew suggested.

Charlotte took a deep breath. "So who are you working for? Alexander? My uncle, the Duke of Normandy?"

"No, just _Okhrana_. I'm afraid the Tzar is far less forgiving and understanding than his son, and far less subtle than your uncle. If you refuse to marry into the Russian royal family, then the alternative is termination. Simple as that."

Charlotte tried not to tremble. Tried to keep from crying out, or showing fear at all.

"I see. Chris, I am disappointed in you."

"Save it, Charlotte. We'll meet again in hell, and you can judge me then."

Charlotte nodded. "Alright. So be it. Since you've chosen this path ... do what you need to do. And may Heaven be merciful."

She felt the barrel of Chris' gun press against her temple.

"Close your eyes, Charlotte. I'll make this quick."

Charlotte left her eyes open. Focused on Matthew. On the man's arrogant smirk.

She heard the hammer pulled back on Chris' gun. She held her breath.

The gun barrel left her temple. She jolted at the sound of the gunshot. And at the red, ragged hole that appeared in Matthew's chest. The man blinked and staggered back a step, dropping his revolver.

Chris pulled away from Charlotte, and fired again. There was a spray of blood, as her bullet tore open his shoulder.

Charlotte turned to Chris, who kept her gun trained on Matthew. Her face was expressionless.

Matthew collapsed.

Calmly, Chris walked over to him, and turned him face-down with her foot. She knelt beside him, placed the barrel of her gun against the back of his head just behind his left ear, and fired a third shot. Then, she calmly placed her revolver beside what was left of his head.

"Chris," Charlotte managed to say between heavy, deep breaths. "Next time I order you to eliminate a would-be assassin, I would appreciate it if you not use me as bait!"

Chris stood up slowly. "Apologies, Your Highness."

"Accepted. Still, this was a bit too much."

Chris turned to her. Her expression was still tightly neutral. "We ought to leave. Someone will have heard the shots."

Charlotte looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

Chris grasped Charlotte's hand, and despite her surprise, Charlotte didn't try to pull away. She let Chris lead her back down the way they came, turning into a different, blind alley.

She let her hand go long enough to pry open a concealed door, and gestured Charlotte through.

It was an empty room.

Chris stepped through, replacing the concealed door, then moving to the wall on the left. She pried open a second concealed door.

Charlotte shook her head, and scrambled through.

This room held a metal cot and a low wooden table surrounded by four chairs. A shelf held tall glass bottles containing a clear fluid, and a dozen tall glasses.

Chris pushed the door closed, and lit an oil lamp with a match. "We're safe here."

Charlotte sighed, and sat. "I trust you'll tell me exactly what's going on?"

"Yes. Drink? It's a cruel irony that all we have here is vodka, but .…"

"I think I need a drink, yes."

Chris nodded, and set two glasses on the table. She filled both, then sat down.

"Cheers, she said weakly, raising her glass.

Charlotte tapped her glass against Chris'. "Cheers."

They drank in silence, draining their glasses quickly. Chris refilled both.

"Matthew's associates are being taken care of. Whatever Matthew might have said or thought, we knew what was going on."

"I see. I was worried there for the briefest of moments. Why did you put on this little show?"

Chris drained her second glass of vodka, and poured a third.

"I am sorry, Charlotte. I went too far."

"Please, just explain it to me."

Chris nodded. "I ... I found that I couldn't just kill him."

"You loved him?"

Chris nodded again.

Charlotte sighed. "Oh Chris. I am sorry."

"I loved you more."

Charlotte blinked. "Chris?"

"He was very persuasive. Suave, kind, gentle. I've never met a man like him, ever. When I was assigned to take care of him, I was forcing myself. I really don't care for men, if I must be honest."

"I see."

"But, I found myself caring for him. Loving him, even. Had I not been completely loyal, to you and to the Commonwealth ... well, as it was, I couldn't bring myself to kill him outright. Not without letting this happen."

"I see," Charlotte repeated, less certain.

"He had to die, but the only way I could kill him was to see you threatened."

"I ... really _don't_ see."

Chris sighed. "I know. I am truly sorry. That is why I am resigning."

"What?"

"I can't do this. I am developing inappropriate feelings for you. I developed inappropriate feelings for Matthew. I should have just killed him once I was certain who he worked for. I couldn't. I also should not desire a romantic relationship with you, or any other client I am protecting."

Charlotte drained her vodka. Chris lifted the bottle, and Princess nodded. She filled the glass, and Charlotte drank half of it outright.

"Chris, I don't think you should resign."

"Why not? I can't do my job."

"Right now."

Chris frowned, and looked at her. "Charlotte, please understand. Seeing you and Ange together hurts. Physically hurts. I can't do this. I literally can't,"

"Then take a vacation."

"What?"

"Chris, you're too valuable to lose. Control won't want you to resign. I don't want you to. Take an indefinite leave of duty. Go somewhere. Forget about me, for a while at least. Then one day, when you've worked things out, come back. Whether I am a princess, or a queen, or just a woman, I will accept you into my service again."

"Even with what happened? With how I feel?"

"Yes."

Chris drained her glass, and sighed. "I don't know."

"That is why you should take time away. You are too good to lose."

Chris shrugged, and filled her glass again.

"Chris, should we be drinking this much?"

"It's alright. An agent'll retrieve us once things are safe. We don't need to do anything til then."

Charlotte nodded, drained her glass, and held it out for Chris to refill.

"I appreciate you, Chris. Appreciate everything you've done."

"Even this act tonight?"

Charlotte shrugged. "Maybe not having a loaded gun pressed against my head."

Chris' cheeks reddened, and she looked down at her glass.

"But yes, even this act tonight."

 

***

 

Ange set down in the alleyway on one foot, with Tina at her side, her arms around Ange's waist. The redhead held on for just a moment too long after they touched down, and Ange frowned.   
When she let go, Tina opened the concealed door, with Ange standing watch. Wordlessly, they moved into the first, empty room.

As Tina closed the outer door, Ange moved to the inner. As soon as she opened it, her nose wrinkled at the smell of vodka. She slipped her mask over her nose and mouth. Tina glanced uncertainly at her, then gestured for her to go first.

Two empty bottles sat on the table, with half a dozen empty glasses. A third bottle, half-full, sat beside the cot. 

Chris lay on the cot on her back. Charlotte lay beside her, her head pillowed on Chris' chest. Both were fast asleep.

Ange frowned beneath her mask. Tina laughed.

"Maybe I got a shot after all?" she said teasingly.

Ange glanced at her, but said nothing. Instead, she walked to the side of the cot, and picked up the bottle. She handed it to Tina, who set it on the table. Then Ange nudged Charlotte's shoulder.

Princess groaned, but didn't wake up.

"Heavy sleeper," Tina said.

Ange sighed, and nudged her again.

Charlotte's eyes flickered open. She looked up at Ange. They were unfocused and bloodshot.

Charlotte grinned very widely. "Hey there. You come to join us?"

Ange pulled the mask down off of her face, and knelt down. "We have come to retrieve you. The danger is over."

Charlotte blinked, then smiled. "So you can stay?"

Ange frowned. "You are drunk."

"Kinda," Charlotte shrugged. "There's more right ...." she pointed to where the bottle had been, then blinked in confusion. "Um. There _was_ more."

"Moved it up here," Tina grinned.

Charlotte looked up at her. "Oh. Hi! Didn't see you before. Are you staying too?"

Tina's grin widened, and she knelt down beside Ange. "Sure thing! Got room on that cot for me?"

Ange scowled at Tina, but Charlotte just laughed. "Maybe. Hey Chris?"

She didn't stir.

Charlotte frowned, and nudged her shoulder. "Chris?"

"Hrmm?"

"Ange is here, and she looks jealous. I believe she is drawing her gun."

Chris' eyes fluttered open. They were just as unfocused as Charlotte's had been. She glanced at Ange. "Oh. Ah. Hello, ma'am."

"You're supposed to be on duty, Chris."

Chris slowly sat up, shifting her position on the cot. Tina, with a very wide grin, sat down on it. Charlotte laughed, and Chris glanced at her uncertainly.

Ange sighed. "It would be best for us to leave. It has been several hours since your duet ended, and you will be missed."

"Hm. Will that be better or worse than returning to Queen's Mayfair drunk on vodka?"

"No crime in getting drunk, yeah?" Tina asked.

"We should leave," Ange repeated.

Charlotte pouted. "I had hoped you could join us for a bit."

Ange shook her head, and Charlotte sighed.

"Fine. Ange, you are a party pooper."

 

***

Ange and Charlotte sat side by side in the clubroom, their hands clasped together between them. Chise and Marilla sat together also, beside them. Marilla looked vaguely uncomfortable, but said nothing. Lily and Tanya sat side by side as well, though further apart than the others. Lily fidgeted nervously, and Tanya glanced at Ange from time to time.

After a moment, the clubroom door opened, and Dorothy and Beatrice walked in, hand in hand. They closed the door behind them, and walked over to the foot of the table.

"Welcome," Charlotte said with a pleasant smile. "Is this everyone?"

"Yeah," Dorothy nodded. "Yeah, just the Principal Team, Marilla, Lily, and Tanya."

Tanya frowned. "Not sure what's up. Why can't Tina and Amanda be here?"

Dorothy shifted uncertainly. "Well ... this isn't really business. I mean, it kinda is, but it isn't."

"Cryptic," Ange said evenly.

Dorothy sighed. "I just have something to say."

"Okay MacBean, let's hear it," Marilla said simply.

"Yeah. Right. I mean, it's sort of an announcement I guess."

"You're stalling," Chise said.

Dorothy took a deep breath, and nodded. "Yeah. I just wanted to say ... I mean, I wanted you all to know."

She glanced uncertainly at Beatrice, who nodded, smiled, and squeezed her hand encouragingly.

Dorothy took another, deeper breath, and looked around at everyone at the table.

"I'm pregnant."

An awkward silence descended on the room.

Lily looked at Beatrice with wide eyes. Ange and Charlotte exchanged an uncertain look. Marilla and Tanya both looked at Dorothy in surprise.

Chise gasped, and turned a wide-eyed look at Beatrice. "How? How did you manage this? Please, let me know how it was done!"

Beatrice turned beet red. "Ah, it wasn't really ... I mean, I didn't ...."

"It was the usual way," Dorothy said, also turning red. "With ... a guy."

More awkward silence.

"I am uncertain what to say," Charlotte whispered at last.

"Well, it's kind of a weird feeling I guess. It's why I've been ... off."

Ange nodded. "That would explain it."

"What are you going to do?" Lily asked, her voice wavering uncertainly.

Dorothy glanced at Beatrice, who nodded.

"We're going to keep her," Beatrice said.

"Or him," Dorothy added.

"Yeah. We'll raise the child as ours."

"I see," Lily said very quietly. Her cheeks were turning red, and she shifted in her seat.

"Well then," Charlotte said with a smile returning to her lips, "congratulations! I've little doubt that you'll both be splendid mothers."

Dorothy's blush deepened. "Ah. Thanks, Princess. I hope so."

"And," Marilla added, "we'll all be here for you. To help you out, however you need."

Dorothy nodded. "Yeah. Thanks Marilla."

"But what happens now?" Tanya asked. "Business wise I mean? You gonna stay a spy?"

"Well, I'm not showing yet, and Control thinks I can still be useful."

"So they know?" Charlotte asked.

"Yeah, told them first. Just in case, you know? Anyway, I'm officially off of field work. We've only got a month or so of school left anyway, and I'll stick around here until then. Lily, I'll be joining you behind the scenes mostly."

Lily nodded, before looking down at the table in front of her.

"Then after graduation ... well, I'm gonna be joining the analysis and admin side of things for a while. They don't wanna lose me or anything, so they'll put me to work. It'll be boring, but better than sitting at home."

"Boring maybe, but safer than being in the field," Beatrice pointed out.

"Maybe, but they'll still be using you as a spy."

Beatrice shrugged.

"Well," Ange said thoughtfully. "This is most interesting."

Dorothy glanced at her uncertainly. "What do you mean?"

"There was a pool," Ange said.

"A what?"

"Several Commonwealth spies made guesses as to when you would be knocked up."

"Knocked up?" Dorothy said slowly, the edge of her eye twitching.

Charlotte turned to Ange with a very wide smile on her lips.

"I do believe that Stephanie called it most precisely. She will be pleased. I believe the pool stands at a hundred pounds."

"Fuck you, Ange," Dorothy snapped.

Lily and Beatrice winced.

Then Dorothy sighed, her expression lightening. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

"I apologize also," Ange said evenly, glancing at Charlotte out of the corner of her eye. "It was a lie. There is no betting pool."

"Yeah," Dorothy said. "Yeah, figured that was the case. You're still a god-damned lizard."

"I will accept that as a compliment."

 

***

 

Ange set the book she had been reading down, and glanced at Dorothy, who was pacing back and forth in the clubroom.

"You ought to sit, Dorothy. A woman in your condition, especially one of your advanced age, ought not to unnecessarily strain herself."

Dorothy scowled at her, and continued pacing.

Charlotte, sitting beside Ange, sighed. "I suspect that she is worried for Beato. They have a mission tonight, whereas we do not."

"Yeah," Dorothy nodded, sitting down. "It's that. The Juniors plus Chise, next year's Principal Team, are getting all the missions now."

"I'm already missing it," Charlotte sighed.

Ange glanced at her. "There is nothing to miss. Beginning this summer, and through next year, and indeed the foreseeable future, we shall be in a position of greater risk, and yet greater reward."

Charlotte nodded. "I know. I can feel how close I am."

Dorothy grinned. "You'll be wearing the crown before you can even have time to be bored."

Charlotte smiled. "I hope so. I suppose. And yet, the implications .…"

There was a knock at the door. Charlotte frowned, and glanced at the other two.

"Come in?" Dorothy called out.

The door opened, and Lily entered, followed by a man in a dark suit. Lily shifted awkwardly, and gave a worried glance to the man.

"Your Highness, Princess Charlotte?"

Charlotte swallowed. "Yes? How may I help you?"

"I am afraid I bear bad news."

Charlotte's stomach felt as though it were filled with lead. "What has happened?"

"This is not the place to talk, I am afraid. You are needed immediately at the Royal Palace."

She nodded, and stood up hurriedly. Ange reached out, grasping her hand, and she turned to her. Ange looked at her with wide eyes, and gave her a very thin smile. Charlotte nodded, and took a deep breath. Then

Charlotte released her hand, turned, and followed the man out of the room.

Lily stayed behind, closing the door after them.

"You know, it's kinda freaky when you two do that," Dorothy grumbled.

"What?"

"Communicate without saying a damn word."

"Dorothy," Lily said in a wavering voice, "I don't think this is a time for jokes."

"Psh. What's the worst thing that it could be?"

"The Queen?" Lily said nervously.

"Oh," Dorothy said, suddenly somber.

 

***

 

"Your uncle Edward has taken a sudden turn for the worse," the man explained as they rode to the palace.

Charlotte took a deep breath and nodded. "I see. What has happened?"

"He's been ill for some time, though he has concealed it well."

"Very well! I was unaware."

"Most people were. That's what he wanted, actually. Now, we fear he has only hours left."

"Mother of God," Charlotte whispered.

"Precisely. The Queen, God save her, has called the other leading successors to the throne to his bedside."

She nodded. "How is she handling this news?"

"You'll see for yourself."

They arrived at the palace without fanfare, and met by more functionaries in suits. They led Charlotte to Edward's room without comment.

Edward lay in his bed. He looked pale and waxy. His face was damp with sweat, and his breathing sounded labored.

The Queen sat beside him in her wheelchair. Her eyes were wide, and unfocused. Her lip trembled, but she made no sound.

Arthur and Mary, Charlotte's aunt and currently fourth in line, stood together on the other side of the bed.

The Duke of Normandy stood at the foot of the bed, and Dr Kreutz stood beside a table on which rested a black satchel. He wore a stethoscope around his neck.

Mary embraced Charlotte tightly. "Thank God you're here."

Charlotte returned the hug, pulling away when she could. "Uncle Edward?"

The man looked up at her, blinked, and a thin smile crossed his lips.

"Charlotte. It's good to see you again."

She knelt down beside him, reaching out and clasping his hand in both of hers.

"Uncle ... why didn't you say anything?"

He chuckled. "And worry you to death?"

The Queen blinked, and looked at Charlotte.

"Ah, Alice. Thank you for returning at last."

Arthur and Mary shared a glance, and Dr Kreutz cleared his throat.

"Your Majesty ... I'm Charlotte. Your granddaughter."

"Yes. Yes, of course. As I said, thank you for coming so quickly, Charlotte."

They turned back to Edward, who took another deep, labored breath.

"Charlotte," he wheezed.

"Yes uncle?"

"Please promise me."

"Promise you what, uncle?"

"You'll look after her."

Charlotte frowned, and glanced up at the others. Arthur shrugged, and Mary looked puzzled. She turned back to Edward.

"Look after whom, uncle?"

"My girl. My little girl."

Mary gasped, and looked at the Queen with wide, surprised eyes.

The Queen frowned. "Edward, what are you saying? Speak clearly, child."

He blinked, and turned to her. "My little girl. She needs someone. Please?" He turned back to Charlotte. "Please, promise me?"

"Alright. Alright Uncle Edward. I promise. I shall look after her for you."

Edward smiled, and nodded. "Thank you, Charlotte. I knew ...." he coughed, and Charlotte backed away in surprise as the doctor moved forward. Edward, angrily, shoved the doctor away. "Not yet, you vulture. Damn you, old quack bastard."

The doctor scowled, and took a step back.

"Charlotte?"

She moved over to him again, and he smiled. "I have always loved you, Charlotte. My chiefest regret is that you were not my own daughter."

Charlotte's cheeks reddened, and she shifted uncomfortably, uncertain how to answer that.

"I know she'll be in good ... in good hands."

"I shall try, uncle."

Charlotte took a deep breath, and stepped back.

"Mother?"

The Queen blinked, and shook her head, as though jolted out of a reverie.

"Edward?"

"I am sorry, mother. So very, very sorry."

"Shush, Edward. It is alright. Everything is alright."

Edward nodded. "I hope it shall be."

"You are going on to a better place, my son. Please I pray, when you see your father, give him my love."

"I shall."

"And ... and tell him I shall see him again soon."

Edward frowned, but nodded.

"I love you, Edward."

Edward smiled, he blinked, and his mouth started to open. He said nothing.

"Edward?"

His expression relaxed. His jaw went just a bit slack.

"Doctor?" the Queen asked in a wavering voice.

The doctor stepped forward, stethoscope in his ears. He placed the horn of the device on Edward's chest, in three places. He sighed, and pulled the earpieces out.

"I am so very sorry, madam. He has passed on."


	7. Chapter 7

Charlotte walked through the halls of the Foreign and Home Office building. She wore a black dress and veiled hat. As she was now second in line to the throne, she had to appear sufficiently mournful of Edward's passing. Though in fact grief was secondary to unsettled curiosity. His 'little girl' remained a mystery. His ex-fiancée was unreachable. Had Edward meant her? Was she with child? Had his illness taken a toll on his faculties?

As she passed by what she recognized as Gazelle Flint's office, she frowned. She turned to the functionary guiding her through the halls.

"Is this office empty?" She knew the answer already.

"Oh, haven't you heard? Ms Flint went missing in the line of duty."

"Is that so? How terrible," she replied, in what she hoped was a convincingly surprised tone.

The man frowned. "Allegedly, she was off to save you from some horrid fate at the hands of Commonwealth spies."

Charlotte blinked, and an amused expression crossed her face. "Is that so? Well, I appear to have come out of that incident none the worse for wear."

He frowned. "Alas, the same cannot be said for Ms. Flint."

"Of course not. I apologize for what may seem a cavalier attitude."

"It's fine. I understand you were none too fond of her."

"She had her moments, sir."

"Indeed. In any case, the Home Secretary awaits."

"Of course."

It was only a few more steps to his office. A young woman with light brown skin and shoulder-length black hair sat in the reception room. She smiled.

"Welcome Your Highness. I'll let His Grace know you've arrived."

Charlotte smiled in response. "Thank you. I don't think I know you?"

"No, I'm new here. My name's Samantha Farthingdale."

"I see. You're Gazelle Flint's replacement, then?" Charlotte's voice held a lilt of amusement.

Ms Farthingdale's eyes grew wide. "Oh heavens no! Though, I was hired on shortly after she went missing. No, I'm just the receptionist for the Home Secretary."

"Of course," Charlotte nodded.

She smiled again, and lifted the handset of the phone on her desk.

"Princess Charlotte to see you, sir. Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

She placed the phone down, and as she gestured to the door, it opened. The Duke of Normandy stepped out. He wore a black armband over the sleeve of his suit.

"Charlotte. It's good to see you again."

"Good to see you as well, uncle."

"Won't you come in?"

She stepped into his office.

"No calls," Normandy said, then closed the door.

Charlotte sat down, and Normandy pulled two tall glasses from his liquor cabinet.

"Scotch?"

"Alright."

He poured the drinks, and sat.

"To Her Majesty: God Save the Queen."

"Amen," Charlotte responded.

They drank.

She looked into her glass. Tipped it, allowing the Scotch to swirl around. She glanced up finally.

"I assume you've not called me here just for a drink."

"Of course not. We've very important business to discuss."

She frowned. "Business? Of what sort?"

"Succession, my dear."

"I see. I am now second in line to the throne. I am engaged, quite happily. I am of course still in morning for my dear uncle Edward. At that, the death earlier in the year of my dear cousin David .…"

"Charlotte, please. You needn't go through that. I'm past intending to ship you off to Russia."

She frowned. "Alright. What's your point, then?"

"I have been approached by Crown Prince Arthur. He does not want to be king."

"Is that so? He's said nothing of the matter to me."

"No, of course not. He came to me, in confidence. Asking for advice, if you will."

"Advice? Why would he go to you? No offense, but I can think of many other members of the government and the family that might be closer to the matter."

"Nevertheless, he came to me. Charlotte, do you want to be Queen?"

"I sense a trap here."

"It's a simple question. There are no strings."

"There are always strings, uncle. As it happens, I would very much like to be Queen."

"And Arthur has no desire to be King."

"Yes, but there's nothing you or I have to do with that, surely."

"There is, Charlotte. I can tell him to follow through with his plans, to abandon his claim to the throne in your favor."

"Making me heir to the throne."

"Indeed."

"You understand then why I'm reluctant to answer you."

"Charlotte, what you must understand is that I have had a working agreement with Crown Prince Edward for some time. I approached Prince David with this agreement, and upon his death approached Prince Arthur."

"Agreement?"

"Once our dear, beloved queen sloughs off her mortal coil, there will be, after a dignified period of time, an unfortunate scandal come to light about the current prime minister."

"I see. A scandal that would force him to resign? One that would allow your coalition to take power?"

Normandy smiled, and sat back in his seat. "You always were far more clever than we gave you credit. Yes, just that exactly."

"Surely you'd prefer Arthur on the throne then. A reluctant monarch who doesn't want to rule would lean more heavily on his prime minister."

"I considered that as well. However, Arthur is not a man suited for the position. He's self-aware enough about that at least. Were he to assume the throne, he'd not last very long."

"Long enough to have an heir?"

Normandy leaned forward, templing his fingers in front of his face. "There is also another issue. Arthur is concerned about certain facts coming to light should he take the throne."

"I see. So he'd rather abandon his claim on a crown he doesn't want to wear than deal both with those responsibilities and whatever scandal worries him."

"Yes. I also happen to know, Charlotte, that you have one or two skeletons in your closet as well."

"Have I?"

"Remember Charlotte, I am in control of the Secret Service Bureau. What they know, I know. You are not so pure and lily-white as you like to make yourself out to be."

Charlotte frowned. "I don't know if I should be insulted or complimented."

Normandy grinned, and lowered his hands to his desk. "I can ensure that any such suspicions be quashed before they be aired. No evidence of anything untoward that you may have done or, say, _condoned_ need ever come to light."

"So you threaten me? That sounds a very poor way to begin a relationship."

"No, I am not threatening. Just the reverse. I will ensure that Gazelle Flint's final reports never come to light, and that any other agents, journalists, detectives, or the like never find certain suggestive clues."

"I don't understand, uncle. Why me? I gather you don't believe Arthur would be king long, but why not Aunt Mary?"

"She's an incompetent flub."

"Again, I fail to see how that is a barrier if you want to be puppet-master."

"I do, but I need a suitable puppet."

Charlotte's smile widened. "I see. And you think that I am that puppet?"

"Yes and no. You are ambitious. You want to change the world. For my part, I have less than no interest in social justice. The rights of women, of homosexuals, issues of religious freedom, and condition of the Colonies ... I don't care. I never have. But, I can find it in my heart to ensure that such issues are brought to a favorable light in Parliament."

"In exchange, I suppose, for my championing causes you support?"

"Of course. Together, Charlotte, we can bring about an era of peace and prosperity, strength and justice. What I don't care about, you do. What you don't care about, I do. Together Charlotte, we can conquer the world."

"Metaphorically."

"Naturally."

Charlotte tapped her chin. "If I say no?"

Normandy sighed, and leaned back again. "Then I advise Arthur to take his lumps. I'll enact the conspiracy and become Prime Minister. I'll manipulate the throne as well as I can for as long as I can. Then in three to five years' time, we'll be sitting here again having the same conversation."

"I see. This evidence you speak of. Against me? It won't come to light regardless?"

"Only if I have a reason to punish you, Charlotte."

"Now that is a threat."

"Of course. I am offering to place you in power. Based on your reputation, you intend to exercise that power, in a way not seen in a century and a half. I'd be foolish not to brandish a stick even as I offer you a carrot."

Charlotte nodded. "I see. So this evens the playing field, then. Well, it is a very interesting offer. You would be my Lord Melbourne, then?"

"I prefer to be considered a Wellington."

Charlotte smiled. "Yes, I can see that. Sadly, you've not yet met your Waterloo. Something to change, perhaps?"

Normandy's smile became forced.

"Uncle, I accept your offer. On one additional condition."

"Name it."

"The Progressive Party is to be part of your coalition."

"Well, that depends on the outcome of the general election."

"I mean in the time between usurping—apologies, I mean _assuming—_ power in Parliament, and the general election."

Normandy frowned. "Take care Charlotte. You're treading on thin ice."

"I must do so, uncle. It's the only way to grasp what I desire."

He considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Done and done."

Charlotte nodded. "Agreed, fully. You know, I do feel somewhat dirty saying that."

Normandy smiled. "If you intend to be Queen, and not just a figurehead under a gilded crown, then you will become positively soiled."

"I suspect so. Well, they do say politics makes strange bedfellows. I suppose this is what they mean by it."

"Indeed."

"Is there anything else we need to discuss, uncle?"

"Not at present, no. You know where I am. As I know where you are."

 

***

Charlotte sat on the edge of her bed. She still wore her black mourning dress, though her hat sat on her dressing-table. She watched as Ange, in her school uniform, paced back and forth.

"He is our enemy, Charlotte," Ange frowned.

"No, he is a member of the government."

Ange stopped, hands on her hips, and turned to Charlotte.

"He is in charge of the police and Secret Service. He seeks to capture myself and every other member of the Principal and Junior teams. He would sign the order for our execution, not gleefully but casually. There's no way around it, Charlotte; he _is_ our enemy."

"Ange, I cannot afford to say no to him. My uncle will be Prime Minister. He will make a big show of mentoring me in my early days as queen. He'll take as much credit for the good times as he can, and pawn off on me as much blame for the bad times."

Ange scowled. "All the while, he will have been guilty of many crimes against us."

"Of course. And yet, I will not change my mind. He is a greedy, selfish man who desires to be the real power in Albion. I can use that to my advantage."

"He's a rabid dog, Charlotte. He may indeed be useful, but if he slips his leash .…"

"Then I will rely upon you to put him down."

"I don't like this."

"Neither do I. However it is what we have."

Ange sighed. "First George. Then David and Rebecca. Now the Duke of Normandy. I feel as though we're compromising what little morals we have left."

Charlotte smiled. "We've not had a trace of moral scruple since we were seven, _Charlotte_."

"I suppose not. Still, this is a tremendous risk."

"Yes. Great rewards require great risks."

"I'll inform Control."

"What do you think they'll say?"

"Well, they're in full support of you as queen. Reportedly, both the President and Chancellor of the Commonwealth are as well. They intend to make peaceful overtures to the Kingdom as soon as you've taken the throne."

Charlotte smiled. "Wonderful. Now if I only had the power to instantly end our nation's division."

Ange sat down on the bed, and Charlotte leaned against her. They embraced, and kissed lightly.

"Ange, I do have one more issue to discuss with you."

Ange maintained an even expression. "What?"

"I'm advised to select a staff. I'd like you to serve as my private secretary."

Ange frowned. "I see. I'll need to discuss the matter with Control."

"How could they refuse? You'll be at my side at all times, able to take my place at need, and to direct and focus my efforts in ways agreeable to the Commonwealth."

Ange sighed. "Yes, I understand the implications. Control still believes me to be a very useful field agent. With Dorothy pregnant, I'm one of a handful of graduates of the Farm available to them."

"If you can only do so part-time that will be acceptable. Just think though: you'll be part of my Royal Household. You'll have access to all the Royal residences and palaces, and won't be questioned. You need merely say you're acting on my behalf, and even if you are refused or turned away, you'll not be detained."

"Again, I do understand the implications. I shall discuss the matter with Control."

 

***

 

Charlotte, Ange, and Maribel were in Charlotte's room in the Royal Palace, unpacking her bags. Charlotte wore a black dress, and Ange wore a black armband around the sleeve of her grey and white dress.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in?" Charlotte called out.

The door opened, and Arthur stepped inside.

"Hello cuz. I'd heard you were in here. Moving in to stay?"

Charlotte smiled. "Not just yet. I've still a few more weeks at Queen's Mayfair. Once I graduate I'll be moving back though."

"Hm. And you are getting a jump on moving your supply train to its proper place."

Charlotte frowned. "I do not overpack, Arthur."

"No, of course not Charlotte."

"In any case. You remember Ange le Carré?"

"Yes, I do. It is a pleasure to see you once more," Arthur responded, reaching for her hand.

Ange frowned, but allowed Arthur to take it. He leaned down and pressed his lips lightly to her knuckles.

"I see you've not changed," she said.

Arthur grinned. "Well, I have quite the eye for feminine beauty. Even if it is already spoken for."

Ange's cheeks flushed, and she glanced uncertainly at Charlotte.

"You refer to Henry, yes?" Charlotte said evenly.

"Very well," Arthur said, his smirk widening.

Maribel cleared her throat. "Ma'am, I'm nearly done with my unpacking."

"Yes, thank you Maribel. Was there something you needed Arthur, or were you merely here to flirt inappropriately with my friend?"

"That has its charms of course, but I do in fact have a serious topic to discuss with you."

Charlotte frowned. "Do you? Alright. Ange, will you be alright here?"

"Of course."

"I'll see she stays out of trouble, ma'am," Maribel said with a grin.

Ange smiled at her. "You see, Charlotte? I shall be in capable hands."

Arthur chuckled, but said nothing even as Charlotte turned a wide and dangerous smile on him.

***

They went to one of the palace's many small parlors. Neither made any particular motions toward the liquor cabinet, nor made any mention of drink.

"So how may I help you, Arthur? Has this anything to do with recusing your place in the succession?"

Arthur sighed. "No, Charlotte. I've announced it to the world, so there's no more to be done on that."

"So, what do you need? Is your house too small, or your pension too meager? As Crown Princess I can't change them directly, but I can have a word with the Queen."

"I have fallen in love, Charlotte."

She shifted in her seat.

"I see. I pray you aren't referring to Ange?"

"No, of course not. Were she not taken it might be a different matter, but I'd hardly intrude upon your territory."

Charlotte frowned. " _My_ territory?"

"Psh. Your act isn't fooling me, Charlotte. Not that I care a whit."

"Alright then. Who are you in love with?"

"I wish I knew."

Charlotte suppressed a deep sigh. "Arthur, generally that is considered the first step in love."

"She said her name was Doris. I met her in Jamaica last April."

_April?_ Charlotte managed to keep from showing her surprise. "I see. Arthur, you knew her only a week. You were also somewhat distracted by David's recent death."

Arthur's brow knitted, and he frowned heavily. He was silent for a moment. "Lotte," he finally said slowly, "I was in Jamaica _two_ weeks. Why would you say I only knew her a week?"

Charlotte kept her expression even. "One week, two weeks ... the point is, it was no time at all. Now, suddenly you are in love with a woman whose name you don't really know?"

"Precisely," he nodded.

"And how can I help you?"

"She said she lived in London. I thought maybe .…"

"I do not know every woman who lives in London," Charlotte said with an exasperated sigh.

"She has long brown hair. Lovely deep blue eyes. No, I'd almost say they were lavender. She is curvy and beautiful. Beautiful even fully clothed."

Charlotte shifted awkwardly, her cheeks turning pink. "I ... I see. Well, I suspect that I would remember such a woman, if I knew her."

Arthur looked at her carefully for a moment, before nodding. "I am quite certain of it. From your reaction, I suspect you do know her."

"Of course not. She sounds like any number of young women from the academy."

"The eyes, Charlotte. The eyes are the key!"

"Arthur, I do not gaze longingly into the eyes of curvy brunettes."

Arthur chuckled. "Of course not. Still, if you have any ideas, at all, please let me know."

"If I do, I shall."

 

***

 

The mill sang. The steam engines and flywheels and drive-belts all moved in their steady mechanical rhythms. The girls and young women raised their voice in song. An English language song, similar to the Japanese one that Chise had taught them before.

Rita smiled as she walked slowly around the workfloor. She wore a dark blue pantsuit and off-white blouse. Her silver-rimmed glasses were free from scratches. A pencil was tucked behind her ear, and her hair was pulled into a loose pony-tail, held in place by a dark blue ribbon.

A young girl with dirty-blonde hair in a tight bun, wearing a black and white work-uniform, trotted out of the office. "Foreman!" she called out.

Rita blinked in surprise, turning to her in alarm.

"Josie? What's wrong?"

"Marilla's coming!"

"Yes I knew that," she replied with a thin smile.

"No, I mean right now! And she's bringing Priscilla."

The singing abruptly stopped. "Priscilla?!"

"Princess Charlotte," muttered another girl, with wide eyes.

"Don't call her that! We know her as Priscilla, savior of the laundry mill."

"That's not right, though! We oughta call her who she is!"

"But she's Priscilla, see?!" The girl pointed to a painting hung up on the wall, above the office window. It showed Charlotte, in the uniform of a laundress with her hair tied up into a bun. She sat at the office desk, and an open ledger was just barely visible at her elbow.

The other girl frowned. "You not read the papers? She's Crown Princess Charlotte. Don't matter how she called herself back then."

The girl winced as though she were physically struck. "I can't read," she muttered.

"Girls!" Rita chided, with a frown. "I appreciate that everyone wants to see her again, and you'll get a chance when she arrives. However, we do have work to do. These clothes will not iron and press themselves."

"Yes ma'am."

Everyone got back to it, though Rita noted with some annoyance that there was more chatter, and less work, than usual.

A quarter hour later, Marilla and Charlotte entered through the open double door. A cry went up around the floor.

"Alright, break time!" Rita called out. The machines gradually shut down, the irons were shut off, and a gaggle of girls and young women formed around Marilla and Charlotte. Rita forced her way through.

"Good morning, ma'am! It's nice to see you again."

Marilla smirked. "Nice to see things going smooth, Rita. You need an extra hand or two?"

Charlotte grinned. "I've got some spare time if you do."

There was a gasp of surprise.

"The future Queen of Albion, doing laundry?!"

"She did before, you know? When she was Priscilla."

"But she wasn't Crown Princess then! Just a princess of air!"

"Hush you! She's standing right over there."

Charlotte laughed. "Please, it's fine. I do believe in getting my hands dirty when I need to."

"There's no need for that now Your Highness," Rita said with a smile. "I mean, thanks for the offer!"

There were cheers of agreement around them, and Charlotte's smile widened.

"Well, as it happens Marilla and I have business to attend to."

"Which could be delayed if need-be. Don't let it be said that I've stopped being one of you," Marilla said

Rita gestured toward the office. "It's free if you need privacy."

"We don't, though a quiet place to sit and speak would be nice," Charlotte. said.

They entered the office. Marilla sat behind the desk, and Charlotte sat in one of the chairs in front. Rita and Josie stood beside the door. And as many girls as could peered in through the window.

Charlotte grinned, and waved at them. Several gaped in surprise and ducked down, though most waved back.

"D'you need anything else? Drinks? Snacks? Anything at all?"

"No thanks Rita, we're good," Marilla said.

Charlotte nodded in agreement. "Thank you for the offer."

"Alright then."

Rita and Josie stepped away, closing the door behind them.

Charlotte took a deep breath, and turned back to Marilla.

"Well. To business?"

"Of course, Charlotte."

"I've been advised to divest myself of all remaining shares of Little Lambs Laundry. As the company has contracts with various branches of the government ... well, I don't really understand all the ramifications, but I am assured by my legal experts that it'd look bad. As though I was using inside information perhaps."

"I see. We've been doing quite well the last few years. Those stocks are worth quite a lot. I mean, I'm a bit nervous seeing that much going on the open market .…"

"No Marilla, you misunderstand me. I am not selling my shares upon the open market."

Marilla frowned. "Then what are you saying?"

"I intend to sell all of my remaining shares of Little Lambs Laundry to you, Marilla. That will give you at least 70 percent of all existing stock, yes?"

"I ... yeah, something like that."

"Making you owner, executive officer, financial officer, or whatever other title you'd desire to choose for yourself."

"I ... I mean, I've been running the show here since you made me foreman."

"And Rita's been an eager pupil of yours. I've read the reports. I have complete confidence in your abilities. Both of you."

"Me too. There's just ... I mean, I want to agree, but I don't know if I can afford .…"

"Please, Marilla. I'd not sell you these shares at market value. I will charge you pennies on the pound, and only that as I have been advised against gifting them to you outright."

"Oh. I mean ... oh."

"Marilla, you're a smart woman. You've come up through the ranks, and the girls and women who work here are your priority. They respect, if not outright love, you. I can think of no one better to be in full and complete control of Little Lambs Laundry."

Marilla frowned, and looked at her hands. "I've always been a worker. My mum and dad were workers. This would make me .…"

"Marilla, it would make you owner of the company, yes, but it would not make you bourgeois. Not if you don't let it."

Marilla looked at her. "Hm. Maybe I can make it a co-op?"

Charlotte smiled. "Do as you will. The company is yours as of right now, so far as I am concerned."

Marilla blinked, and looked down again. "I guess ... there's no downside?"

"None."

She smiled, and looked back up. "Alright. Name your price, then."

 

***

 

The faculty of the Academy entered the ballroom, the school's hymn playing over the newly-installed electric loudspeakers.

Charlotte, Ange, Dorothy, and Lily stood, all wearing black robes with white trim. Charlotte noticed out of the corner of her eye that Dorothy had a hand on Lily's back. Lily was glancing at Dorothy with a look of concern, and had her arm around the older girl's waist.

She glanced to the other side of the ballroom. Beatrice, Chise, and Marilla all stood side by side, in nice dresses. Beatrice grinned, and waved at Charlotte, who smiled and winked in her direction.

When the faculty had arrived at the podium, the music stopped, and the audience sat.

The school chaplain opened the ceremony with a prayer, and the headmaster gave a dry speech about futures, opportunities, and great times ahead. Charlotte mostly ignored it. Her mind was on other things. Certainly about the future. Interesting times were in store.

And then the names of graduating students were read off.

"Lily Gaveston."

Lily took a deep breath, and walked up to the podium. Charlotte glanced at Ange with a grin, and she shrugged.

"Ange le Carré."

Ange nodded, and walked up. Charlotte clapped with slightly more energy than dignity, and Ange's cheeks reddened.

"Dorothy MacBean."

Dorothy sighed, and stood up slowly.

"Will you be alright?" Charlotte whispered.

"I've been shot and stabbed and electrocuted and been in more car wrecks than I can count. I'm not gonna let some bratty kid keep me down."

Charlotte grinned, and patted her back as she moved, noticeably slowly and carefully, to the podium.

"Charlotte Saxe-Coberg-Gothe."

Charlotte blushed, and stood up. The applause increased in volume. She had half-expected "God Save the Queen" to begin playing. Of course, it didn't.

She reached the podium, and the headmaster started to bow.

"Please, treat me like the rest," Charlotte said with a thin smile.

He cleared his throat, glanced at the other members of the faculty, and then reached out his hand. Charlotte, smiling widely, took and shook his hand. She then passed down the row of teachers and administrators, shaking hands, and finally being presented with a parchment scroll tied with a red ribbon. It was for show of course, as the certification showing her academic accomplishments would be mailed to her separately. She had already been accepted into several universities, though as Crown Princess she had no plans to formally attend any. She would have far more important, stressful duties to attend to after all.

After receiving the parchment, she returned to her seat, where a widely-grinning Ange hugged her tightly.

"Ange," Charlotte whispered, "this is all for show you know?"

"Sure," she answered in an excited, high-pitched voice, "but you're still top of the class. I'm so happy and proud!"

Charlotte's cheeks turned red, yet again.

 

 

***

 

Charlotte lounged on her bed, in a casual white dress. Ange sat at a small table nearby. Maribel stood, her hands folded behind her back.

"So," Charlotte asked, "How do you like your room, Ange?"

"It's nice. I wish I could spend more time in it."

Charlotte turned to her with a wicked smirk. "Then you may leave, if you wish."

Maribel giggled, drawing a raised eyebrow from Ange. The maid hurriedly stopped, rocking on her feet, but still grinning.

"No," Ange said with a deepening frown. "I want to stay here now. What I mean is that my job requires me to be away."

Charlotte sighed. "Ah, yes. Your job. I do wish you'd quit so you could serve me full-time."

Ange shrugged. "I wish that as well, though as you well know the job serves your interests. However indirectly."

"Should I leave, ma'am?" Maribel asked, her cheeks turning pink and looking increasingly uncomfortable.

"No," Charlotte yawned. "No Maribel, you may stay. We're not discussing deep, dark secrets after all."

There was a knock on the door, and Maribel glanced uncertainly at Charlotte. The Crown Princess nodded, and Maribel turned to and opened the door.

At the door was a footman in a blue silk coat and waistcoat, breeches and stockings, black shoes with silver buckles, and a white powdered wig on his head. He looked vaguely uncomfortable.

"The Crown Princess is kindly requested by Lord Chamberlain Baron Sandhurst, for important matters."

Charlotte sat up. "Oh, I see. Something to do with the family?"

"Presumably, madam."

She sighed, and stood up. "I'd better go, then."

"I'll see you later tonight then," Ange said with a smile.

"You'll be here?"

Ange nodded. "I shall."

"Splendid! Maribel, make certain Ms le Carré has a place for supper."

Maribel nodded, with a smile. "Yes ma'am."

The footman led Charlotte through the halls of the palace, to the large conference room. A red-coated soldier opened one of the two double doors and saluted her.

When she entered the room, she suppressed a gasp of surprise. The Duke of Normandy, the Prime Minister, Law Lord Gaveston, Baron Sandhurst, and several other members of the cabinet sat at the table.

"Well," she said slowly, taking a seat. "I was under the impression that you had business with me?"

Lord Gaveston cleared his throat. "We want to declare you regent."

"What? Why?"

"You've finished your schooling," her uncle Normandy said. "You can devote all your efforts to it. It'll be good practice for your actual rule."

"No, it will be the beginning of my rule. Why, though?"

Baron Sandhurst frowned."Simple necessity. The Queen, God Save Her, is not entirely capable. You must admit this."

"I don't entirely approve. However, I tend to agree. It may be necessary."

"So you will serve as regent, then?" Sandhurst asked.

"Naturally. If I am called to. I would prefer not to take that step."

"Agreed," the Prime Minster said sharply. "A girl like yourself should _have_ , not be, a regent."

Gaveston and Sandhurst glared at him, but he ignored the sour looks.

"That said," he continued, "better you than a queen convinced it's 1862."

"Are we done here?" Gaveston asked, still glaring at the Prime Minster.

"I believe so," Normandy stated. "If you have other questions or concerns ...."

"No uncle, not until such time as I'm called to serve."

Normandy smiled. "You'll have my full support, Charlotte."

"Making you de facto regent," Gaveston muttered under his breath.

 

***

 

The royal limousine pulled up to the front entrance to the place. It was a nice manor house, suitable for a middling-rank baron like Beatrice's father. The car came to a stop, and the driver exited. He was met by a middle-aged woman with short brown hair and wearing a maid's uniform. They discussed something, while Ange and Charlotte looked out curiously.

After a moment, the driver backed off, and the maid opened the car door.

"Welcome, Your Highness. Ms le Carré. I am Sylvia, Miss Beatrice's head maid."

"It's nice to meet you," Charlotte said with a wide smile.

"Likewise. If you please?" She gestured for them to follow her.

"Sadly," Sylvia continued, "Miss Beatrice's household is somewhat understaffed at present. You must forgive her for sending a maid out to greet you."

"Forgive? I'm certainly not offended," Charlotte said in mild surprise.

The front door opened, revealing a younger woman in her early 20s.

"Welcome, Your Highness, Ms le Carré. I'm Agnes. Miss Beatrice and Miss Dorothy are expecting you. This way?"

Ange and Charlotte shared a glance, then followed her.

Beatrice and Dorothy were in the living room, sitting on a couch. Beatrice darted up with a wide smile as they entered. Dorothy, smiling, remained seated. She had obviously gained weight, and it was increasingly evident that she was expecting.

"Welcome, Your Highness! Ange."

"Hello Beato. My, this is quite a nice place."

"Oh. Well, it's technically not mine yet. I inherit it when I turn 18, though I'm allowed to stay whenever I want."

"And since I'm Beato's knocked-up wife, I can stay too," Dorothy said with a smirk.

Agnes giggled quietly. "Will there be anything else, ma'am?"

"Charlotte? Ange?" Beatrice asked, glancing at them.

"Whisky," Dorothy said.

Beatrice glared at her. "Not allowed, by doctor's orders."

"Bah!"

"Tea would be nice," Charlotte said with a smile.

Ange nodded agreeably.

"Tea for four, then."

Agnes nodded. "Very good, ma'am."

Charlotte and Ange took seats, and Beatrice returned to the couch.

"So how are things going?"

"Alright."

"It's rough since most of Beato's servants quit in disgust when they found out she was lesbian, but it's a nice place and Agnes and Sylvia make up for it."

Beatrice blushed, and shifted very awkwardly.

Charlotte's grin widened. "I see pregnancy has improved your tact and diplomatic skills."

Dorothy laughed. "Tact's overrated, and when it comes to diplomacy, I find that using my .…"

"Ah, here's Agnes with tea!" Beatrice exclaimed, interrupting Dorothy.

Agnes, cheeks red, entered the room and set a silver platter down on the coffee table.

"Sugar? Milk?"

"Yes, please." Charlotte said with a friendly smile.

"Miss Dorothy," Sylvia said from the door. "There's a call for you. On the ... special line."

Dorothy frowned, and she and Ange shared a look.

"Sorry guys. Looks like duty calls."

"Do you need assistance?" Ange asked.

Dorothy frowned. "Not from you, lizard."

She pulled herself up to her feet with a heavy sigh, then walked out of the room, following Sylvia.

Agnes poured tea for Beatrice, Charlotte, and Ange.

"I'll pour Doro's tea when she gets back," Beatrice said with a smile.

"Very good, ma'am."

Agnes gave a quick curtsey to the room, and left.

"So your maids know about Dorothy's occupation?" Ange asked with a thin frown.

"Not in detail. Mostly because they don't ask."

"I see. Does Control know about your current situation?"

"Of course. I'm still leader of the Junior Team. Well, actually they're the Principal Team now. We might get summer holiday from school, but not from work."

Charlotte sighed. "A situation I know all too well."

"Well," Beatrice began, "I don't have any complaints. It's actually nice to spend time at this old ...."

She was interrupted by the door opening abruptly, and Dorothy storming into the room.

"God dammit!" She shouted. Her face was red. Her eyes were narrow, and her frown very deep.

Beatrice squeaked, and looked over to her in alarm. "Doro, what happened?!"

Ange and Charlotte both stood up, and made motions toward Dorothy. She glared at them, and stormed over to the couch.

"Here," she grumbled, tossing a piece of paper at Beatrice.

"What's this?"

"Transcript from Control?" Ange asked.

Dorothy turned and paced away from the couch, folding her arms over her chest, and glaring out the window.

Ange and Charlotte sat back down, looking at Beatrice in concern.

"Be advised," she read, "As of 5 July Gazelle Flint freed ...." Her voice trailed off.

"What?!" Charlotte said in alarmed surprise.

"The bitch apparently got lawyers," Dorothy spat.

"Legal team successfully argued her capture and incarceration illegal under the cease-fire agreement of ... this is bullshit." Beatrice's cheeks reddened at her own words, but she didn't walk them back.

"Let me see that," Ange demanded.

Beatrice handed the paper to her. Charlotte leaned against her, reading it as well.

"Why the hell did she get fucking lawyers anyway? Any of us get captured, we'd just get thrown in some hole to rot."

Beatrice looked up at Dorothy. "Dear, please sit. I know you're upset .…"

"Upset? Upset! Sweet, she murdered my father!"

"We don't know that," Ange said quietly.

"Fucking ... who else would it be? Who else'd be bold enough to plant an axe in his face, in a church no less. And since they let her go, we'll never find out now, will we?"

"Doro? Please."

Dorothy sighed, and walked back to the couch. "I just," she said quietly. She blinked, and took a deep breath. "Dammit," she sobbed. "I just wanted some justice."

Dorothy sat down, and collapsed against Beatrice, who wrapped her arms around her tightly.

Ange placed the paper down on the coffee table. "This is distressing."

"To say the least," Charlotte agreed.

"I shall need to discuss this with L. We may have recourse."

"Oh no!" Beatrice said in sudden alarm. "We're all in danger! Gazelle saw Amanda and Tina! We even used their names!"

"Relax Beato," Ange said, "the note indicates that they were warned as well."

"Still," Beatrice whispered, "this potentially compromises my team. I'm not happy with that."

"As I said, I shall speak with L. We shall do what we need to."


	8. Chapter 8

Charlotte entered the ballroom of the Royal Palace. It was dimly lit, and empty except for a gramophone set up on a table along one wall, and a middle-aged woman with close-cropped greying hair. She wore a dark blue pantsuit and bow-tie. She looked up as Charlotte opened the door, and bowed.

"Your Highness. You're right on time."

"Of course Miss Arapov, though if I must be honest I can't fathom why I'm here at all."

The woman frowned, and tapped her hands together behind her back. "The Lord Chancellor of the Royal Family has instructed me to tutor you in dance."

Charlotte sighed. "I have been training to dance since I was seven. I won my school's ballroom dance competition two years running, and elected not to compete the other years. If I may be so bold as to say so, I am qualified to teach dance."

She frowned heavily. "With all due respect, madam, your form is acceptable for a Princess of Empty Space."

Charlotte frowned, but held her tongue.

"For a Crown Princess, let alone a Queen, you must be flawless. You are to be the central gemstone of the Crown Jewels, and you must be perfect. Feminine. Demure and strong all at once."

"And you believe I am not?"

"The Royal Family believe you are not, madam. My job is to ensure that you are."

"Very well," Charlotte said. "Shall we begin?"

Miss Arapov nodded, and placed the gramophone's arm on a record. A Viennese waltz began to play.

Charlotte placed her hand on Arapov's forearm, and was slightly surprised when the woman put her hand on Charlotte's lower back. They clasped hands.

"Now, begin with basic steps."

They danced. Rise-fall-spin.

"Good. Your mastery of the basic steps is impressive. Now, we must move on to intermediate techniques."

"I can dance to any level you'd desire now. To me, these are all simple, basic steps."

"I am not impressed, madam. You will perform according to my instructions, at my timing and pace, and will not be ...."

She was interrupted by a knock at the door, as it opened. A messenger with wide eyes poked his head in.

"Apologies for interrupting. Your Highness, your fiancé sends word."

Charlotte pulled away from Arapov. "Oh?"

"His father, Duke Ernst IV of Saxe-Jena, has passed on."

"Oh."

"As such, Duke George II, as your future husband is known, has requested your presence in Jena as soon as practical."

"I see. Yes, thank you. I apologize, Miss Arapov, but it appears I have urgent matters to attend to. Unless you feel that the waltz is more important than my future family?"

Miss Arapov frowned heavily. "Of course not, madam," she replied in clipped tones.

"Good."

 

***

 

Ange and Baron Sandhurst arranged for first class travel to Jena by rail. Ange and Charlotte rode the Golden Arrow Express from London to Calais via the Chunnel, then changed trains to one that went East into the German States. They left London just before midnight, arriving in the city of Jena early in the morning.

George embraced Charlotte, tightly and earnestly. "Thank you for coming promptly."

"Of course, dearest. I came as soon as I heard the news. How are you holding up?"

"Well enough. There's no surprise at his passing."

Henry and Ange had embraced, and now stood to one side, holding hands.

"George's set me to work making the arrangements."

Ange glanced at him in surprise. "Arranging the funeral?"

George, who released Charlotte and took her hand in his as well, shrugged. "I need all the help I can get, frankly. There are political and financial matters to attend to."

"Need help?" Ange asked seriously.

"I'll put you to work, darling," Henry said with a smirk.

Ange frowned, but nodded. "Very well."

 

***

 

George gave Ange and Charlotte a quick driving tour of Jena. He sat in the back with Charlotte, while Ange sat in the front passenger seat, next to Henry who drove.

"Were circumstances different, I'd advise you to attend the University here. It has some prestige, both in literary and scientific circles."

Charlotte smiled. "It has quite a reputation, of course. Sadly, I've decided that I haven't the luxury of attending university. At least, at the moment."

George frowned. "Understandable I suppose. Still, less than ideal."

"I'm forgoing university as well. I shall serve Charlotte in whatever capacity I can."

Henry glanced at Ange. "Professionally as well as romantically?"

"Naturally."

 

***

 

At the funeral, Ange and Charlotte wore matching black dresses and veiled hats. The other members of George's family seemed to know who Charlotte was, and she received more than one appreciative bow or curtsey, along with comments about how her strength was holding George up.

For her part, Ange kept a comforting hand on Henry, who looked on edge through the entire affair.

 

***

 

"Parliament has declined to pass the law declaring you regent."

Charlotte nodded. "I see. I suppose my age had some bearing on the decision."

"No, it was argued that the position was unnecessary. In the years after the revolution, the position of Counsellor of State was created to ease the burden on Her Majesty."

"A position I'm not eligible for until I turn 21."

"18. Rather than creating you regent, they have instead modified the existing law."

"Oh."

"Congratulations."

"Well, I suppose I'm not very offended. Frankly, it felt a little too close to being a coup the other way."

"You need a staff. I mean, a full and proper staff. Your private secretary, Ms Lucare .…"

"Le Carré."

"Apologies, I assumed she was Italian instead of Norman."

"She is neither, as it happens. In any case?"

He cleared his throat, and shifted. "Yes. In any case, she has been approved by the Home and Foreign offices, and will be authorized to speak on your behalf."

"As I am now to speak on the Queen's?"

"Indeed."

"Is there anything else?"

"No. I've forwarded to Ms _Le Carré_ a list of other potential candidates for your staff."

"I'll go over it with her."  


***

 

"So this is your new office, ma'am."

It was a mid-sized room. A large, impressive ebony desk sat against one wall, in front of a large window. A swivel chair with a fancy leather seat sat behind the desk, and three less-impressive wooden chairs sat in front of it.

Charlotte walked slowly around the desk. "Interesting. I'm not certain if the decor suits me."

"Well, it can be changed, ma'am. Frankly, it's strange for you to have an office. The Queen customarily receives guests and dignitaries in one of the many parlors, or the throne room."

"Yes, of course. I suppose I desire something slightly more governmental."

Sandhurst shrugged. "Well, I serve at your pleasure, ma'am. However, I highly recommend that, once you become Queen, you follow tradition."

Charlotte sat in her chair, and sighed. "This is nice. Well, I shall follow your advice, sir. At least, as regards certain guests and dignitaries. I still desire an office, and I still desire to receive certain persons here."

"As you please."

Charlotte nodded, and glanced around the room. She placed her hands upon the desktop.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Yes, this will do. As is. It doesn't entirely fit my image, I admit, but it does have the correct atmosphere."

Sandhurst frowned. "With all due respect ma'am, you look like the owner of a business, or a politician."

Charlotte smiled. "I am both, in a sense."

 

***

 

The bed was stiff and uncomfortable. The darkness around them was interrupted at regular intervals by a thin sliver of yellow light that snuck in past the blind over the window. Instead of blessed silence, they heard the sound of the iron rails clacking, and the private rail-car rattling as it sped across the countryside

through the night.

None of this mattered. Charlotte's entire world lay in the bed beside her, pressed against her. Her lips met Ange's in a soft, tender kiss. The kiss broke, and Charlotte couldn't help but giggle.

Ange frowned. "Has my touch become so familiar to you that it moves you to laugh? Or have I become so poor at making love?"

Charlotte shook her head, smiling. "Neither one, Charlotte. I just can't believe how far we've come."

Ange smiled. "It's been quite a journey, I suppose. From a ragamuffin pair in an overgrown garden, to the Crown Princess of Albion and Hanover."

"Well, not just yet."

Ange shrugged. "It's down to formality and ritual now."

"I suppose. I just hope it isn't too tedious."

"I am afraid, dearest _Ange_ , that it will be terribly tedious. My office has confirmed that the King will trundle you out tomorrow and display you to the people of Hanover, and then tomorrow night there is to be a grand royal ball in your honor."

"Dear God. I don't suppose you'd care to take my place?" Charlotte asked with a mischievous grin.

Ange matched it with her own. "I neglected to bring the wig."

"Liar."

"Perhaps," she admitted as her grin widened.

"I can order you to take my place you know."

"Can you?" Ange asked, leaning in close. Allowing her lips to graze against the soft, warm skin of Charlotte's shoulder.

"You may do your very worst to me, torturing me with your kisses and ravaging me with your body, and yet I will not ...." her words vanished into a gasping hiss.

Ange chuckled. "Will not what, dearest? Submit?"

"Ange le Carré, your hands are deadly weapons," the Crown Princess breathed.

"Only for you," Ange whispered.

 

***

 

The grand ballroom had a polished hardwood floor and mirrored walls, electric chandeliers, and electric speakers hidden behind elaborate gilded pillars of faux-marble. The punch-roll system in one corner of the room was disabled, in favor of a live orchestra that sat on a raised platform to one side. They currently played a selection of light, unobtrusive chamber music as the royals, nobles, and other dignitaries of Europe assembled.

Charlotte and George entered arm in arm. A step behind them, Ange and Henry entered, Ange lightly gripping Henry's forearm.

"And here she is," King William announced lightly, with a wide grin. A cloud of advisers smiled dutifully, bowing and pulling away from the King to give him room.

Charlotte and George separated, and Charlotte walked over to William, who embraced her tightly.

"Crown Princess Charlotte. You are absolutely divinely beautiful."

They separated, and Charlotte's face was red.

William grinned at George. "I feel as though I should have proposed instead of offering her the crown."

George laughed genially. "I fear I'd be forced to duel you for her hand, sir."

William laughed and clapped George's shoulder. "I believe such a risk would be worthwhile."

He gave Charlotte a wink, and gestured for her to continue. She clasped George's forearm again, and they walked past.

"Miss le Carré, I hope you are finding your stay enjoyable."

"Your Majesty," she said with a quick curtsey. "Your hospitality far outweighs your reputation, generous as it is."

He nodded. "And you sir?"

Henry smiled, bowing. "Majesty. So long as I can share a space with my love, I'm content enough."

George coughed, and shifted somewhat awkwardly, shrugging at Charlotte. She grinned, and glanced back to see Ange forcing a coy smile to her lips.

"Tangled webs," Charlotte whispered.

 

***

 

Charlotte was unable to avoid meeting the various dignitaries assembled. The Queen and Duke of Normandy gave her earnest congratulations, as did the Chancellor of the Commonwealth of Albion. She noticed, with some amusement, that her uncle and the dignitaries from the Commonwealth spent most of the evening glaring at one another across the room, as though they could win the Cold War here and now merely by wishing the painful death of the other.

She was then led around to the various guests, introduced to a wide and confusing array of nobles, royals, businessmen, and diplomats.

"And," the King was saying as she led Charlotte to another part of the room, "I believe you know Tsesarevich Alexander of Russia."

"Your Highness," he said with a bow. A young woman with light red hair stood beside him. "Allow me to introduce to you my fiancée, Duchess Nicolette of Denmark."

Charlotte's smile widened. "It's a pleasure."

"Mine entirely," Nicolette said with a hurried curtsey.

"I cannot thank you enough, In refusing my earlier proposal to you, you have allowed me to make the acquaintance of the most beautiful and charming female of the human species."

Nicolette's cheeks reddened, and she shifted her weight uncomfortably. "You exaggerate, darling."

"Well," Charlotte said, "I'm quite pleased you've both come."

"My darling father declined the invitation, though had no qualms with my attendance."

Charlotte kept her expression quite even. "Your father doesn't like me."

"No," Alexander said bluntly.

"Alexi," Nicolette said in a shocked whisper.

"It's true, Nikki. I can't very well pretend otherwise."

"Well," King William said stepping toward them. "I'm afraid my other guests are waiting with the proverbial baited breath."

Alexander nodded, turning to him with a bow. "Of course. Forgive me, Majesty."

"It's quite alright. Please, enjoy yourselves."

"It was wonderful seeing you again," Charlotte lied.

Alexander smiled, bowing to her. "Again, it was my pleasure."

"And a delight to meet you, Lady Nicolette."

The woman gave her a quick curtsey. "Delighted," she managed.

 

***

After a few slow waltzes, interspersed with light chamber music emphasizing the piano, the conductor turned to the assembled dignitaries. He cleared his throat, and waited for the ballroom to come to silence before bowing.

"The Royal Orchestra will now play, for the first time ever, my new composition, _Kronprinzessin Charlotte Waltz_."

Charlotte's cheeks turned pink, as the applause in the room was aimed as much at her as at the composer. The King moved over to her, and gestured for her to take the center of the ballroom floor.

She walked out, increasingly self-conscious. She forced a mild smile to her lips, curtsied to the composer, and turned to see King William and Duke George exchanging words.

After a moment, the King stepped forward, with a smile. "It seems your fiancé has granted me the privilege of sharing the first-ever dance to this new music with you."

"Has he?" She glanced at George, who wore a mischievous grin. His hand rested lightly on Henry's forearm. Ange stood beside the two, her expression strictly and carefully unreadable.

"Well," Charlotte continued, turning back to the King. "He is most generous. To a fault, one might say. Perhaps the reason that I accepted his proposal."

The King laughed lightly. "It's always good to have a proper spouse to prop one up in times of difficulty."

"Indeed," Charlotte stated, as she placed her hand lightly on the King's shoulder.

 

***

 

 

Charlotte sipped her champagne, and smiled politely at a small group of ladies who had learnt, to their utter delight, that Charlotte was fluent in German. She had been listening to them gabble on about nothing for quite a few minutes.

She felt a feminine hand on her back, and she half turned, expecting to see Ange. Instead, a woman with brown skin and dark hair, wearing silver-rimmed glasses and a sleeveless off'-white dress, nodded to her with a very thin grin.

She felt her stomach jolt in momentary terror, which she quickly subdued.

"Ladies," she said in English, "I apologize. I must abduct the Crown Princess for my own purposes."

They laughed and bid Charlotte farewell.

Charlotte allowed the woman to lead her away, noting that she kept her hand on Charlotte's back.

"Gazelle Flint," she said evenly, without apparent surprise or fear. "I suppose it's nice to see you. I'd heard you turned up missing on an assignment."

"Your Highness, it's not something I'd care to discuss at present. However, I would like to have a word with you, in private. As you are Albion's heir apparent, there are ... matters that we must discuss."

"I see. Matters?"

"Details that concern you now that you're next in line for the throne. Details that you weren't privy to before."

"Well, I have an office now. Contact it and schedule a time."

Flint nodded. "I shall do so, madam."

Charlotte smiled. "Was there anything else? I'd offer you a dance, but I'm uncertain how acceptable that would be in this area."

Flint's smile widened just a touch. "I would accept such an offer, though I fear it wouldn't go over well."

Charlotte felt Flint's hand leave her back, and the other woman stepped away.

"Until next time then Crown Princess," Flint said, giving her a shallow bow.

Charlotte nodded. "Indeed."

She hurried over to the table where Ange and Henry were sitting, and sat as gracefully as she could.

"Everything alright?" Henry asked.

"Of course." She glanced around the room. "Now, where is that wayward fiancé of mine?"

Ange and Henry looked at each other.

"I'll see if I can find him," Henry said slowly. Ange very subtly nodded.

"Thank you," Charlotte said with a smile.

He rose, and hurried off in a random direction.

Ange leaned in close. "I noticed you talking to Gazelle Flint."

"Yes," Charlotte nodded. "She has indicated a need to discuss matters with me, in private. I do hope you don't object."

"Well," Ange replied in an even voice, "she has been a very dangerous foe. I might recommend caution. At the same time, she may prove ... useful."

Charlotte smiled widely. "I had the same thought." Her smile then melted. "Have you talked to Control about her?"

"Yes. They assure me they have things under control. So to say."

"I fail to see how," Charlotte muttered darkly.

"I am afraid you must simply trust them in this matter."

Charlotte was quiet for a moment, then she glanced at Ange. "Something else is going on."

"She was released due to a violation of a legal treaty. There is nothing else going on. Control merely has things in hand."

"You're lying to me."

"Perhaps. And yet, I shall maintain this answer regardless."

Charlotte sighed, and shook her head. "Sometimes, Ange le Carré, you even manage to exhaust me."

A thin smile crossed Ange's lips. "Good."

 

***

 

Charlotte walked out of the palace through the private entrance. A chilly breeze blew, carrying a hint of London's soot and the sharp scent of the Thames. Orange and red and brown leaves fluttered past. She shivered.

The black-clad doorman bowed to her, and a red-coated soldier in a pith helmet with a white plume saluted. She smiled in acknowledgment, and walked down the short pathway. A hard-topped royal limousine sat waiting for her.

"Your Highness," said a short, dark-haired man in a longcoat. Chris' replacement, Charlotte mused with a regretful sigh.

Still, she managed to smile in thanks when he opened the door for her. When he settled into the rear passenger seat, she turned to him.

"You really needn't come along."

"I've been ordered to ma'am, by both the Secret Service and Control."

Charlotte nodded, with another sigh. "Well, please understand that I'd prefer to be on my own."

"Of course. I'll remain discreet and invisible."

She nodded absently, and looked out the window as the car pulled away from the Royal Palace.

London was not at its best. It was the middle of October, and autumn had been rainy, cold, and heavy with pollution. Charlotte was glad to escape it, even for a few hours, and even with Ange absent due to other obligations.

Drizzle fell from the sky, but the air seemed clearer, crisper, healthier, as the car left the city behind. The surprisingly rural, green scenery sent a shiver up her spine. It had been so long since she'd been out this way. June.

She had packed her "supply train" as Arthur had called it, and left Queen's Mayfair for the last time. At least, as a student in residence.

She blinked, and sat back.

"Ma'am?"

"Just reminiscing. I spent a good portion of my life at the Academy, you know."

"Yes ma'am."

All business. Charlotte suppressed another sigh, and turned to look back out the window.

The Academy grounds hadn't changed. The trees were mostly bare of leaves, and the garden had only a few hearty plants, but even so it was familiar. Cozy. A smile crossed Charlotte's lips.

The limo pulled up to the main entrance of the Academy, and Charlotte opened her own door to dart out before either her bodyguard or driver could do so. She tried not to laugh at their cries of alarm as she practically skipped up the steps and into the building.

She cleared her visit with the Headmaster's office, not that it was a surprise. And, leaving her bodyguard to keep up while maintaining his promised discreet invisibility, made her way through the halls.

She stopped at the door to the Natural History clubroom. She took a deep breath, and reached out for the doorknob. Reminding herself that she wouldn't see Ange and Dorothy sitting at the table, teasing and bickering with one another. Team White Pigeon remained in spirit, but in body ....

Before she could allow herself to fall down that particular rabbit hole, she turned the knob, and stepped through. The familiar warmth, cozy decor, and scent of spice and tea, brought a smile to her face.

Beatrice and Tanya sat beside each other. Charlotte noticed their hands were clasped together, their fingers entwined.

Tina and Amanda sat on the other side of the table. There was a space between them, and they showed no inclination to interact.

Further down the table, Chise sat beside a sixth girl that Charlotte didn't recognize. She had light brown skin and black hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her blue eyes stood out in sharp contrast. The two were quietly talking in what Charlotte assumed was Japanese, though the new girl didn't appear Asian.

"Welcome, Princess! Meet the new Principal Team. I mean, you technically know almost all of us anyway. This is Veronique."

The girl in question smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."

"Nice to meet you as well," Charlotte replied, sitting at the head of the table. "Are you from France, Veronique?"

"Technically no. I was born in Ajaccio. My mother was a French citizen. According to rumors, she was a distant relative of the Bonapartes. My father was an Algerian freedom fighter who was forced to flee his native land to find asylum in Corsica, where my parents met."

"My, quite a lineage."

Beatrice grinned. "Veronique's actually an agent with the Corsican Security Service, but on-loan to us."

"Albion has long been a friend to Corsica, so I leapt at the chance to serve."

"But you are helping the Commonwealth," Charlotte observed.

"Of course. Corsica is a republic, however much we owe to Albion. Present company excluded, I personally have no love for royals."

"I see. Well, I do hope we'll get along."

Veronique nodded. "I am quite certain we shall. Will you be joining us on missions?"

Charlotte laughed quietly. "I wish that I could! It'd be a vacation in comparison to negotiating the politics, petty and grand, that I face daily."

Veronique frowned, not appearing to appreciate the joke. She didn't say anything however.

"Well," Beatrice said, "the Crown Princess is here to talk about the up-coming Autumn Dance."

"That's right. I'm a special guest of honor, and the occasion affords an opportunity for an exchange of information."

"So you will be passing to us state secrets?" Amanda asked.

"Why not just do it now?" Tina asked.

"This is a specific document, which I shall not have access to until just before the event."

"What about Ange?" Chise asked.

"Control has specifically ordered her not to be involved."

"What if you're caught?" Veronique asked.

"It is our job to ensure she isn't," Tanya said.

Beatrice squeezed her hand, and smiled widely at her. "That's right."

Tina and Amanda both rolled their eyes, but held their tongues.

"I feel that I shall be in safe hands," Charlotte said. "I believe that ...."

She was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in?" Beatrice said uncertainly.

A man in a dark suit peeked into the room.

"Your ... Your Highness," he said with a note of panic in his voice, "I'm afraid you'll have to come with me."

Charlotte's breath caught in her throat. "What's happened?"

"This isn't the place. Please?"

She shared a worried glance with Beatrice, then stood with a nod.

They moved rapidly through the corridors of the school. The few students not in club activity or studying looked at them with wide eyes. Charlotte heard whispers, and she felt her stomach flip.

Soon, the man opened the door to an unused clubroom. Charlotte took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

"Baron Sandhurst?"

The Lord Chancellor stood and gave Charlotte a quick bow.

"I made your office aware that I was coming here, I hope there's no ...."

She then noticed the other occupant of the room. 

"Archbishop Davidson?" she whispered. She tried to swallow. Her throat was rapidly becoming dry.

"There's no easy way to say this," the Archbishop said.

Charlotte's knees felt rubbery, but she remained on her feet.

"What happened?"

"The Queen, God save her, passed away approximately one hour and a half ago," Baron Sandhurst explained.

Charlotte felt as though she had been struck.

"Dear God. I ... I was just there. I looked in on her before I left. She seemed ... fine. Tired, but .…"

"There was nothing you could have done," Archbishop Davidson said quietly.

Charlotte nodded. "I know. I know. I just don't know what to say."

The two men glanced at one another.

"You understand what this means? Do you accept the responsibility?"

Charlotte tried and failed to swallow. She nodded.

"Then," the Archbishop said, "say this: I, _your name_."

"I, Charlotte."

"Do solemnly and sincerely."

"Do solemnly and sincerely."

"In the presence of God, Profess, Testify and Declare."

"In the presence of God, Profess, Testify and Declare."

"That I am a faithful Protestant."

Charlotte hesitated a moment. She took a deep breath. The Archbishop glanced uncertainly at Baron Sandhurst.

"That I am a faithful Protestant," she said at last, evenly.

Archbishop Davidson nodded, and proceeded with the remainder of the declaration.

"God save me," Charlotte whispered to herself at the end.

"Then," the Archbishop said quietly, "you need say no more."

He bowed his head, and both he and Sandhurst dropped to one knee.

Together, solemnly, they intoned: "Long live the Queen."


End file.
